Liberties Taken
by xo cheshire
Summary: A lady's reputation is an important thing, but what of a gentleman's? The problem with being in the same sphere as Elizabeth Bennet is that she thinks him being compromised is the funniest thing yet. Until she is the one compromising him. ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is not for purists. Liberties will be taken with writing this fic, historically and regarding regency etiquette, some suspension of disbelief is required. **

**Due to the change in their stations there will be some out of character behaviour but that will be explained or (in the case of Mary, Georgiana and Kitty) will be my interpretation of them.**

**Part One of this story (chapter 1-9) is available for free as a download on my blog (call (no space) me (no space) .com under the menu as "Variations of Pride and Prejudice").**

**Special thanks to my wonderful alpha and beta readers: Ruth and Lizette. As I still like to add on and edit well after they're done their part, any mistakes found are mine.**

Chapter one

.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was a man with an astoundingly impressive reputation – heir to a great estate, nephew of an earl, and as single and unattached as the day he was born. The _Ton _was familiar with men of his stature.

Elizabeth Bennet had an advantage over them, however, for though she recognized the generalization of such men, she knew him intimately.

"Mr. Darcy," she greeted, the pitch of her voice high, "I daresay, I did not expect to see you here." Faking a trip, she fell into his arms and said, the back of her hand to her temple, "Oh my, it is quite hot in here, is not it? Forgive my delicate ladylike habit of swooning."

"Amusing yourself, I see."

She continued her charade, "And her personal maid enters: 'Oh my dearest heart, married to Mr. Darcy my lady will be!'" still maintaining her stance, she opened her eyes and winked. "Just reminding you of your most recent exploit; how quickly news travels when a servant is the witness." Practically twirling out of his arms, she plopped down on the divan, righting her skirts and smiled up at him innocently.

He rolled his eyes. "Glad you are making yourself at home, Elizabeth."

"It is soon to be Miss Bennet actually," she informed with a prim hauteur.

"Yes, forgive me – a little bird told me of the engagement, congratulations are in order."

"Yes, a little bird that practically blew your door down once my sister said yes." Her suppressed laughter pulled at her lips as her eyes danced. "I suppose I am not sharing his company with you for that reason?"

His lips twitched. "Bingley is making arrangements, and I did not have the energy to participate in his joy."

"Shocking," she mocked, unsurprised.

As he walked around his desk, he offered, "Tea?"

"Not at all, unlike last night, this morning is stifling."

"It cannot be that bad, you chose to walk," he pointed out. When she said nothing, he glanced at her from across the room with a slight smirk. "I can see the dried mud on your petticoats."

She grinned."Six inches deep, would you believe?"

He shook his head with a chuckle.

Under normal conditions he would not even think to engage with a lady in such a manner; however, their being acquainted since childhood made it difficult to behave differently. His father and hers were close friends while at Cambridge, and their ancestral estates bordered each other. The children of both the Darcy and Bennet family practically grew up in both estates leading to their long friendship and the inevitable expectation of a marriage between the two families.

Though the Bennets were not as rich or connected as the Darcys, they were favoured by most and the daughter they anticipated he would marry was kind, gentle and handsome.

However, with that particular daughter's impending marriage to someone else (a man with New Money, scandalous really!) the competition among the _Ton_ to entrap the heir of Pemberley began and intensified with every social obligation he had to fulfil.

"They are driving me mad," he complained, taking the seat across from her. "If I get compromised one more time, my father will make me marry the next one."

"Now you are just being dramatic."

Mr. George Darcy, despite choosing to be a recluse when he retired (his heir was certainly old enough to take charge, and if he wanted to stay at home and spend the days taking naps and fishing, he would bloody well do it) refused to have his family name slandered in any way. For all his good humour, he was adamant that his only son was not getting any younger, what was wrong with being marched down the aisle? (Though that did not stop his father from making the messes disappear, in any case.)

"It is the fourth time in a week."

"Try not to sound too disappointed," she teased, "it has not been that long since Jane has been removed from your notice with her engagement. There will be more eventually, and then you will rival even the Prince Regent."

He groaned, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You are being dramatic," she repeated, more soothing this time as he mumbled into his hands. Elizabeth sighed, rolling her eyes. "If you offered for Jane like you should have a long time ago, you would not be in this situation, you know."

"You are starting to sound like your mother."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Better my mother than Miss Bramsfield." Hearing her stand, he peeked between his fingers and saw her move closer before he felt her hands rest on his shoulders.

She made her voice forcibly low and gravelly. "Oh but Mr. Darcy, you look so very exhausted, shall I assist you?" His lips twitched. Miss Morrison – his third would-be compromised bride.

"So long as you do not drag me onto your lap and act surprised about how I got there," he answered flatly, eliciting a laugh as she gently rubbed his shoulders.

For a moment, she simply eased the tension behind his neck before he realized his forehead was hovering dangerously close to her stomach as she stood before him. Hardly an innocent act by any means, and it certainly did not help that he was quite happy to be there. But that was a dangerous thought.

As he was about to lift his head, she stopped her ministrations and ruffled his hair, carelessly affectionate. "Calm yourself, it is just me. You know I would not think of compromising you."

He hoped his sigh sounded more relieved than disappointed.

Pushing at his shoulder gently for him to lean back, she came to sit on the armrest of his chair and resumed her previous attentions.

Darcy tried to ignore her close proximity and the way her warmth and smell was prickling his skin; certainly, she would think nothing of it. They had always been a close pair - in fact, his father was convinced from the start that he would marry Elizabeth and not her sister.

Speaking of her sister… "When are they getting married?"

"Six months mayhap a year. Mother wants a long engagement in order to prepare, and to throw as many parties to show off the rest of her unmarried flock." She snorted. "You would think that after her youngest ran off with a soldier, having a single daughter would be the least of her concerns."

"You could have been married too – that Collins man asked for you, if Bingley is to be believed." He had wanted to beat the man when he found out (Collins, not Bingley).

"Yes, but he is a pompous fool. I would have killed him within the first week," she waved off. "My fast approaching spinsterhood is not the problem. Your bachelorhood is in danger – come, you must have thought of a way to preserve it."

"I would have thought you would take advantage of it."

Incredulous, she asked, "Me?"

"You need a husband, or spinsterhood beckons."

"Spinsterhood is not so terrible a choice. My family is hardly in any financial constraints that would make me a danger to their livelihoods. But as I said, my spinsterhood is but a shadow to the convenience of marriage your life seems to be heading towards."

"Convenience," he repeated turning his head to look at her, "who said anything of convenience?"

"Certainly, you would have to with the way the _Ton _is clamouring for your marital bliss." Her countenance was open, amused as always if not a bit cynical in the way her brows and lips twitched out of their usual arch expression. "Though there would be no need for convenience if you had someone already. Honestly Darcy, how someone like you remained single all this time is a mystery indeed."

"Why, pray tell, is that?"

She made a sound of derision."If you think I shall flatter you to make you feel better about yourself, you will be horribly disappointed."

"Truly, your teasing eludes me."

"You should listen more," she remarked, "Everyone mentions it every time you leave your house." Clearing her throat, Elizabeth mimicked, "'Oh that's Mr. Darcy! Yes, the heir to Pemberley. He is very handsome, and he is worth well over ten thousand a year – did you know that he is also related to Lord Matlock? Indeed, indeed, a fine match he would be!'"

Amused, he declared, wincing against the glare of the sun from the window just to be able to address her properly, "You have been spending too much time in the parlours – I almost thought that my inheritance, fortune and connections were all that were attractive about me."

"Did I not mention you were handsome?"

"You think vanity will appease me? Oh how you wound me…"

Smacking him lightly on the shoulder, his companion huffed. "Fine, you shall get no more pity from me."

"Good, you know I live for your scathing criticism dearest."

She rolled her eyes good naturedly and from then they were silent, enjoying the companionship of their close friendship, with the slight discomfiture of having Darcy stare at her.

His eyes were narrowed in thought, calculated and attentive at once. He always had an intense way of looking at people, like you were a subject he regularly thought about and he was reacquainting parts of you he remembered from the last. Elizabeth was used to these kinds of stares.

Not that she minded of course. Her childhood friend had always been considered handsome like Jane. Really, they would have made a splendid match if they felt more strongly for each other.

"Do you want to get married?"

She blinked, and her movements stilled. "Me?"

"Yes."

Another silence lapsed, different then the last – contemplative, and curious before she informed him, "If this is a proposal, it is a terrible one."

"Regardless of that then, would you marry me?"

"I do not want to get married."

"Not even to me?"

"Certainly not to you."

At the subtle drop in his expression, she told him, "You and I would not make a very good married pair."

He was, as usual, inclined to disagree, "How so? I think being married to you would be delightful."

"You are talking through the shackles dearest; perhaps I shall reconsider for that alone."

"Would it be so bad?"

Her sigh sounded like a huff. "We would argue about everything: books, plays, social events, our families -"

"I quite like arguing with you. You actually have an opinion."

"_Everyone_ has an opinion."

"An intelligent one then," he allowed, his quirked brows challenging, the sight causing the lady to roll her eyes.

"You are insufferable."

"You love me anyway."

Elizabeth looked away, suffering the same sight of the sun glaring at her through the window, though she seemed less bothered by the shine in her eyes and more concerned in the thoughts that occupied her mind in that moment.

Not that he expected any less. A change in their relationship as drastic as going from friends to husband and wife was not a task lightly taken, but he would rather risk the attempt than lose her, as a he likely would if this compromising nonsense continued, and if, heaven forbid, one succeeded. If she refused then – No, there was no room to allow such a thought.

He poked her side. "Am I not handsome enough for you?"

"I refuse to entertain your ego Darcy," she sniffed, offended.

When she said nothing further, he prodded, "I am not teasing you with a proposal Lizzy."

Her brow furrowed and her dilated pupils constricted into tight slits when she turned to look at him. "Why do you want to marry me?"

"Would you like me to expound on your good qualities?"

"Darcy, really." Arms folded, practically closing in on herself, he tugged her hand towards his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.

"Forgive me; I never quite know when we must be serious."

"How ironic considering you are the most serious man I know." Though her eyes rolled and her chin was jutted out in defiance, a blush lingered across her cheeks and the corner of her lips flickered upwards.

"You are not married, and I am not married," he began in answer to her previous question.

"Shocking."

"It is," agreed he despite the sarcasm tingeing her voice, "and you do not want to be a spinster."

"I never said that," she was quick to retort.

"You are a peculiar lady."

"Being a rich spinster has its advantages you know. I can take care of Jane and Bingley's many children, travel about as I am carted from one sister's home to another, traipse around the estates and parks and gardens and forests without worrying of my husband's opinions or tarnishing his name with my ways, I will not have to run a house or choose furniture or colours or menus, in fact, I shall be at constant leisure. At dinner parties at Darcy House or Pemberley or wherever you and your future wife choose to reside, I will always have the best stories."

"What if my future wife does not approve of you?" Her brow furrowed, momentarily confused, and he took the chance to clarify, "Deny all you want, but you are quite intimidating to other ladies dear Elizabeth."

"Intimidating, me? I think you are mistaken, surely if people are intimidated it is your doing, it is because you never pay anyone further attention beyond a surly greeting and bow."

His lips twitched. "Perhaps."

"Though, I suppose if I am constantly at your side people would assume," she trailed, looking thoughtful before she shook her head and asked, "but what of you? Do you not wish to be a bachelor forever?"

"What fun would that be?"

She shrugged. "You do what unmarried gentlemen do, I suppose."

Nose crinkling, he informed, "It sounds dull," and in reply Elizabeth snorted.

Resting his arm almost leisurely around her waist he leaned on her shoulder, divulging a close wish in his heart, his voice soft and solemn, "Would you not want to spend days walking with someone rather than alone, exploring and discovering things together, reading books and debating their themes, teasing each other at the breakfast table, perhaps having a little one to spoil and love as yours? Would you not want to go to a place and know that you are undeniably home, and know that you would never have to leave it? I do not want to be bachelor forever if it means if I could have that instead."

For several moments they were quiet, before she slowly woke from the haze of his dream. "Would you still want those things, even with me?" Her eyes met his uncertainly, and a dimple formed at his cheek.

"Who else would I share such a dream with?"

Her smile was bashful, and she shook her head in an attempt to disperse the burst of colour rushing to her face. "Mr. Darcy, if you were this charming to every lady you came across, I daresay you being unmarried up until now is a mystery indeed."

Pressing a kiss against the material at her shoulder, he asked once more, "Marry me?"

The lady knew that look too well. Whoever put him up to the task of proposing to her had now made him determined to achieve it. "You are incredibly sly, and you know I cannot deny you anything when you look at me so." With a dramatic sigh, she conceded, "Yes, Mr. Darcy I would be honoured, however, I have a condition: Court me."

His face fell. "Court you," he repeated, "they have already started compromising me. I might not even make it to our wedding."

"More fun for the both of us then, well at least for me." She flashed him a smile. "You shall be expected to buy apology presents for your lack of discretion."

He pretended to sulk. "I knew you just wanted me for my fortune."

"Your proposal left a lot to be desired; in fact, it was awful. This is your punishment."

"Then being married to me shall be yours," he declared, pulling her gently down to him so that she slid from her pedestal at his arm and onto his lap, close enough that their noses brushed with their lips on the verge of touching before –

Through the open library door, the shrill voice of a scandalized maid interrupted them, "Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet!"

Somehow he knew this would happen.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

.

If Elizabeth had been "compromised" to marriage by any other man, it would hardly be a scandal, barely anything more than a passing comment in a parlour. More than one lady had entrapped her husband, more than one couple had been compromised to marriage, and more than one couple had done a number of things against propriety and their vows to God; yet most were still viewed as respectable.

But Mr. Darcy was not any other man.

The dressmaker and her assistants flitted around her like butterflies, but noisier and rougher.

Abruptly, she was tugged about as a girl took her measurements while another was comparing material against her skin, complimenting her as they worked.

"Honestly, we are here for Jane, not me. For goodness' sake, what is the matter with everyone?" Oh, but she knew. The weight of the Darcy name, and being the Darcy heir's intended brought with it a level of attention Elizabeth, as one of five daughters, was unaccustomed to.

"Is something bothering you, sweeting?"

"Jane," she whined, "call them away; you are the one that needs a dress, not me!" As their mother's favourite, Jane always got new dresses for every occasion – ball, assembly, supper with this or that family, Sunday service – rain or shine. Lord knows their papa was more than happy to give her away. With Lydia also gone, his economy would certainly be improved by the loss.

Her sister teased, "But you have to look just as good."

"And outshine you? I would never dream of it," Elizabeth retorted, waving everyone away, only to have the tugging and pulling begin with renewed vigour.

"I know it has not been easy these past few days," Jane soothed.

"Yes, getting compromised does absolute wonders for one's mental health."

"It certainly did wonders for mother's!" The mention of their mother who was likely torn between wanting to claim her as the new favourite and wanting to strangle her at the same time made Elizabeth laugh. "Has she finally stopped having card parties under the guise of rubbing our impending nuptials in our neighbours' faces?"

"If you would care to visit, you would know," was the reply as Jane looked over her shoulder and winked. "When will my future brother return you to us? I do not recall you staying as long as this in London besides for your Masters. I think papa was more than willing to let me travel to town so long as I returned with you, wedding clothes or not."

"Was mother desolate about being barred from the occasion?"

"Afraid so, papa was worried you would never come back to Longbourn. Mother is just as insistent that you return."

"It is not the first time I have stayed at Darcy House without them; as I recall, she absolutely refused my staying with the Gardiners at Gracechurch Street," she reminded Jane.

"Yes, but that was before you got engaged," with a deceptively innocent smile, Jane added, "and I never said anything about them having a problem with you staying at Darcy House."

With a flush that spread across her décolleté, Elizabeth brushed this off. "When we were children we stayed at each other's properties in between the holidays from boarding school. Why, you remember do you not, you used to always insist on playing house and making Darcy and I your children whenever we were together!"

"Yes, and now it seems you are both playing without me," she lamented with a dramatic flair Lydia would have approved of. "How is it playing house with Darcy?"

"I am starting to think that your impending marriage has caused you to be incredibly mean to your most beloved sister, Jane," Elizabeth informed with a pout.

"I shall make it up to you dearest, I promise," stated the elder with a wink.

Though Jane had relented for the moment, once they were assisted back into their day dresses, she continued her assault, "You still have not told me."

"Told you what?"

"So obtuse," she accused as they made their way out of the dressmaker's shop and onto the pavements as they walked to their next destination. "What is it like staying with Mr. Darcy now that the two of you are engaged?"

"Courting," Elizabeth corrected, "and to rid you of any otherwise sinful imaginings you may have entertained, it is nothing special." The look that was sent her way was disbelieving, and she groaned. "You do not honestly believe we are in love, do you?"

"He proposed, did he not? You have always said you would not accept anything less than love when you marry."

"He would never mistreat me and would be considerate and gracious always, that is all."

"Have you ever thought he would not?" Jane ventured.

"Why does everyone think Darcy is so disgustingly perfect? Perhaps he snores so loud I am able to hear him across the distance of the estate, hardly considerate or gracious of him at all. And depriving me of my sleep? How terrible!"

Amused, she asked, "And does he?"

"No, but that was not the point!"

"So he does not?"

"You should be aware of his habits by now; you have known him as long as I have."

"Not as well as you," was the response, before Jane laughed. "Do try harder to destroy his mythical perfection, I insist."

"I know you are teasing me, but I shall comply for that alone." Entering a teashop, the sisters seated themselves and waited to be served, ignoring the sudden silence in the establishment before Elizabeth supplied, "He is proud."

"He has good reason to be," Jane said, her serene expression giving her sister something to focus on other than the whispers that were starting to stir.

"But that does not absolve him of it."

A girl approached, offered the day's specials of tea and cake, and then went on her way with their requests.

Jane continued patiently, "Surely that is not all?"

"Of course not, he is conceited."

"How so?"

"He thinks that just because he is Fitzwilliam Darcy of this estate with this annum and this uncle, that everyone must be in want of his attentions."

"Perhaps I would have an easier time believing you if this were not the same Fitzwilliam Darcy running _away _from these attentions."

"He still expects the treatment – for others to fawn and fall over themselves for him. I have it that he thinks he is rather above the society anywhere."

"I am sure you have humbled him thoroughly enough with your friendship."

"If that were the case he would not be so difficult to convince to go anywhere. Before this whole business he was adamant in refusing invitation after invitation simply because this family was that or that family was this."

"Strange, is he not usually caught up in business? Is that not why he comes to London?"

With a huff, Elizabeth demanded, "Will you be his champion the entire time, Jane?"

"Well someone has to defend him from these gross accusations," she answered with another laugh, "Mr. Darcy has hardly ever gone against decorum and good manners, those exceptions being his run-ins since my engagement to Mr. Bingley, and your engagement of course."

"Since I am quite sure Darcy was simply bowing to the whims of his father and ours, I highly doubt the last was any decision of his."

It was then that the lady across from her sighed. "Why must you think so little of yourself?"

"Regardless," Elizabeth dismissed, "I am insulted I was not asked my opinion in the scheme; at the very least the both of us could have been given the opportunity to find someone else. They shall have my whole life planned out for me without my consent and I shall have little choice but to go along with it. Darcy, honourable to a fault, will do as everyone else wishes of him. Unfortunately there was little reason to refuse him, his mind seemed reasonably set."

"Oh Lizzy, I am sure that is not the case. At the very least you shall have a say in your wedding clothes," Jane comforted, patting her hand.

"Knowing Darcy, we will elope to Scotland."

"So you can get married in your day dress? Mother would be in tatters!"

"I think it would be more fitting, do you not think?" Elizabeth laughed. "I have already been compromised, what is an elopement to add to my ruined reputation?"

It was then that the girl returned with their cakes and tea, catching what she needed in the conversation to gasp. "Oh no Miss, you must not elope, your gentleman is Mr. Darcy, yes? Of course it is, you are Miss Elizabeth Bennet, are you not? You cannot elope! He will commission for the finest dress, everyone still talks of the clothes his mother wore at her wedding, and I -"

The girl's exclamations the perfect catalyst for the flutter of whispers and stares their way raised in volume and magnitude, until suddenly everything grew as silent as a grave.

Behind her, a hulking figure cleared his throat.

Bursting with apologies, the girl scurried away.

"I hope you were paying attention to that sir," Elizabeth said, in the hush that filled the teashop.

"I was," he bowed. "It is best we comply with the young lady's wish."

Point unintentionally proven, his intended gave her sister a smirk before flashing a cheeky grin, impish and impudent as always. "I admit I am quite disappointed, Mr. Darcy. I was looking forward to getting married in my day dress. I hear Gretna Green is lovely this time of year."

He chuckled. "I am at your disposal, dearest."

At the teasing brow of Jane across from her, Elizabeth conceded, "For all your faults, Darcy, you shall make a good husband."

"It makes me wonder if you have been firm in deciding otherwise," he remarked dryly.

"Oh no, I have the highest hopes." She winked and despite her usual teasing, the high colour on his cheeks was not the trick of the light.

"Lizzy," Jane scolded, though her lips quirked in a smile, "you cannot tease him so. What if one day he believes you?"

"Then I shall do my wifely duty and maintain the illusion, he is never happy unless I am teasing him."

"The unfortunate reality of my attraction to her," Mr. Darcy claimed getting her laugh.

.

Furious was not a familiar state for one so disinclined to feel anything acutely, but one Mary Bennet felt nonetheless. Restless with nervous energy, she was at a loss of what to do other than the asinine habit of wearing a hole through the floor.

Even if she did not consciously know it, her body knew that the excess energy had to be expended before she could return to a rational young lady born, bred and educated as a gentleman's daughter. A thought that, on any other occasion, would sober her but this time only served to enrage her further, the swell of emotions making her movements faster as her hands took to wringing and she mumbled to herself incoherently.

Not even the recent elopement of her youngest sister brought her as much emotion as it had this very day.

"Come in, come in, you are driving me mad with your aggravation, what has happened now?" Though she hesitated for a second, his hacking cough from beyond the door dispelled any of her usual fear towards entering her father's sanctuary, a place that only ever Elizabeth was allowed into outside of their patriarch. Despite the state of Mr. Bennet still in his bedclothes – night cap and all (no doubt he had chased Eric out), and reading some tattered novel, he still remained a fearsome figure as he demanded, "Well?"

She stuttered, and he grumbled back, "I thought this 'nerves' nonsense ended with your mother."

Her brow furrowed as she refused to accept the sentiment, but again found herself unable to think of her next course of action.

Shall I sit? No, no, he has not invited me to…

Can I continue to pace? No, no, he will say I am like mother again.

Leave? I can leave can I not? No…no, he has not dismissed me that would be rude…

Perhaps pretend everything is fine? Yes, yes, I shall do that!

Emotions still high, the woman mumbled a question (a cross between "Are you well father?" and "How do you fare?") that sounded like a jumbled mess of both with an added quiver in her pitch.

His sigh was irritated. "I will not ask again Mary, what has happened?"

With his two eldest gone to London, his youngest married and his other daughter gone to Bath with Miss Darcy and their companions, Mr. Bennet's only form of entertainment that did not derive from his neighbours, tenants or wife was Mary, and she was rarely interesting.

He had sketched her character multiple times in the past and found himself unsurprised by how simple it was: quiet, reserved, staid and awkward. She was wholly dependent on the approval of her mother and the attention of her father, both of which neither had given much of, and completely in the shadow of her sisters. She had taste and accomplishment, but no confidence to define her and no personality beyond the silence she wore and the listless songs she played.

Mr. Bennet, however, was grateful at times for it.

What Mary did not have in spirit she had in control and emotional distance.

When Lydia had run off with a soldier, her sisters mourned her and their chances of a decent marriage (their mother just as loud). When the situation was handled, they all rejoiced and chattered on about how happy their Lydia would be.

Mary, however, was barely fazed by the entire thing.

She mourned for Lydia all for a moment before deciding that Lydia would do what Lydia wants to do (a sentiment he shared), and when the ordeal turned and everyone was happy, she could only shrug and return to her pianoforte. He appreciated her indifference as much as he loathed it for it was a terribly boring thing to be exposed to without his Lizzy at home to balance it out.

But this was a new development. Standing before him, mumbling like a fool, hair messy from its usual tight bun, face ruddy and eyes wild with confusion and anger, yes, this was a new development indeed.

"Speak," he bade her.

"Mr. Robinson has proposed."

Oh. How dull.

Perhaps this would be a task better suited to one of her sisters, he thought, already mentally leaving the conversation behind, surely her mother would –

"I said no."

Oh.

"You said no?"

Visibly, she shrank, and almost meekly she said, "I do not love him."

"Love?" he parroted.

Here he was, thinking he had at least one intelligent child in the entire brood, and for what? Mr. Bennet had been patient with his girls, they were handsome and he had done his part to ensure they were educated and as accomplished as they desired, but the foolish notion left a bad taste in his mouth.

Love was a sentimental thought and he did not appreciate it.

Even his favourite daughters, Jane and Elizabeth, had fallen prey to the unpopular concept.

Lydia, oh he understood her, there was no way his most unrestrained would ever concede to marriage with a gentleman who was not at least as handsome as she was (and she fancied herself incredibly so), her, Mr. Bennet expected.

But Mary? He had labelled her rational, dutiful; obedient.

He had suffered through endlessly stilted conversations with the girl for as long as she could talk, listened to her playing with no enjoyment for she showed none and observed, with a hint of amusement and embarrassment, her failed attempts to interact with her peers and would-be suitors.

Mary had few friends, if the term could be used at all and now no suitors either.

"Elizabeth waited," she managed, her eyes falling to the floor. "Elizabeth waited for Mr. Darcy, and now they are to be married. Jane waited, and now she is going to be Mrs. Bingley. I thought perhaps…"

"Thought? And what did you think? What rich, handsome young man with all his limbs and wits attached is waiting for you?"

"…no one father."

"You are twenty, Mary. You have no prospects," was the plain truth he uttered, though it was still enough to get her to look down in further mortification. "I am ill," her father emphasized, "even the apothecary is sure I will get worse rather than better. What do you expect will happen? That you will be a spinster; burden your married sisters, take care of your mother?"

The answer she had was yes…

As much as Mary believed in marrying for love (her parents certainly had not, and they were quite miserable), she did not have so high a hope that she would actually find someone who would love her, let alone marry her.

Selfish as it was, she looked forward to Elizabeth's and Jane's unions.

Their husbands would provide a stable, comfortable life for her sisters and in turn her. Oh, she did not expect it for nothing, she would be a governess to their children and companion to them if necessary. She would not make a nuisance of herself, and would require the basic of what a gentleman's spinster daughter would receive. As well off as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were, she had no mind to take up space in their home and strain their economies in any way, she was not Lydia and if anything, she would work for her bread and butter.

Since her father's health began to decline, she had taken to caring for him. As little as he liked spending time with her, she ensured he took his potions, called for the apothecary on a daily basis, insisted he took walks out when he could and even helped dress and bathe him whenever he lost his temper and chased away his manservant.

Was she the perfect daughter? No, but work she understood, she was useful which was not something to be easily said for the rest of her sisters.

If Mrs. Bennet were to survive her husband, Mary had come to terms with the fact that she would remain in her company in their ancestral home, her duties unchanged as they were currently: placate the help when her mother had a nervous fit, and run the house from the menus to the ledgers…It was not a task one could prepare for really, but she would make do, she had to.

The latter seemed the most likely option and so she answered, "The servants listen to me; I have tried in the past to learn the ledgers which I am sure I will sufficiently when the time comes…The tenants know who I am, and I have helped handle disputes in the past. I am prepared father…"

This time he laughed aloud. "Mary, you will not live in this house when I die. Kitty will not live in this house when I die. Your mother will not live in this house when I die. In fact, no one can even come back here when I die. This house is entitled away from you, from all of you. Your mother did not bear me a son so you shall suffer the consequences."

Her face grew paler, and went completely white as he spat, "Go find that young man, beg for his forgiveness and save yourself while you can. Mr. Robinson may not be a gentleman; he may not be rich, handsome or show signs of possessing even a single wit, but he is your only option. Snivel, crawl and cry as you are doing now; it is the only thing that you are good at doing," he finished bitterly, but the words had barely left his mouth before the door of his study slammed shut behind her, and he entered yet another coughing fit.

Mary did not come back to check on him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

.

People watching was a plebeian concept, Elizabeth was informed at a young age by her mother, the undue snobbery making her father wink. Mr. Bennet's attempt to placate his wife while continuing the frivolous activity resulted in a change of name for the task; "character observation" was much better suited anyway even if the basis for it was more flights of fancy than educated guessing.

For years she honed the skill with her father's aid, taking greater pleasure in social events with strangers because of it.

Usually, she was unbiased in her choice of characters – the bored, the dour, the eager, the prim, the haughty and the persistent. This time, however, her focus was on the couples in attendance: Happy in their union, begrudgingly together, amiably diverted by their partner or detestable to the other; she wondered at them, and how they got into their situations.

Perhaps they were similar in temperament; it was certainly a popular exclamation of a good match. Her future brother and Jane were example enough. Oft they were accused of being practically the same person, but those who observed rather than just looked knew differently.

Bingley was happy, jolly almost, in every aspect of his person – the way he walked, smiled, and talked while Jane, on the other hand, was all serenity and calm.

Having studied them together for months, Elizabeth knew that similarity was never a bad thing, but contrast was a thing of beauty however difficult the distinction was to see.

"Tell me Miss Eliza." She was interrupted from her thoughts as Miss Bingley came to join her on her turn about the room, "where is Mr. Darcy? You have not run him off already, have you?"

"No indeed, he had a late appointment, but he should be here within the hour," she answered, smiling and nodding at those that greeted them.

"I feel I must offer my congratulations on your engagement."

They continued to walk, and when the lady said nothing further, Elizabeth asked, "Was there to be any congratulations on your part, Miss Bingley, or were you merely informing me to look out for one in the future?"

Her smile was without warmth. "Forgive me, I find it difficult to express myself. Many had entertained the notion of his marrying anybody, but you never came to mind."

"Not even for a moment?" asked she in feigned disbelief. Some of the gossips were always quick to gleefully remind her how _unusual _her and Darcy's engagement was, after all, it was so soon after Jane and Bingley's announcement. But the idea was simply preposterous, though a traitorous voice in her head fed the beast regardless.

"Certainly, many believed that you were on the shelf you know."

Her lips moved to form a response, but she was interrupted by the cool voice of another, "What is a little maturity before matrimony?"

"Cecilia," Miss Bingley greeted.

"Try to sound a bit happier to see me, Caroline," the lady said before nodding to Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet, this soiree is simply delightful, would you mind passing the compliment on to Jane? She seems to be preoccupied with her other guests."

"I am sure she would make the time for her future sister, Mrs. Graves."

"Jane is such a sweet girl," she declared, "I do so look forward to having her in the family."

"To be sure," Miss Bingley echoed.

"Further congratulations to you and Mr. Darcy are in order; the society pages were rampant with the news!"

The lady rolled her eyes. "Yes, I fear anything to do with him results in gossip of some sort." Before the banns had been read, every one of Darcy's "entrapments" were speculated on. Thankfully, nothing too lurid to warrant any defamation of anyone's character or put too much of a stain upon the ladies' reputations, but just enough to entertain in parlours between tea.

Mrs. Graves shook her head. "I do not understand why. Your father and his made no qualms as to who was marrying who from your family."

"That may be," Elizabeth said, "but his having asked me was still unexpected. I was just as surprised as Miss Bingley_."_

"As surprised as we were to learn of Louisa marrying Hurst? Oh my dear, I sincerely hope not, I gave you credit for being far quicker than that," Mrs. Graves declared, "and you know me Miss Bennet, I detest being wrong."

"No, not that surprised. It is only that Mr. Darcy and I have been such good friends over the years, to be anything else seems…strange," she decided, the disquieting uncertainty creeping inside her grew uncomfortable in her chest. Carelessly, her hand trailed over her bare neck that was noticeably lacking a token of Mr. Darcy's intentions before she caught herself in the act, and curled her hand tightly to her side.

"Strange," the lady repeated, "however so? Love fades like beauty fades, but friendship built on marriage now that is a marriage that will stay."

"Or grow to foster resentment," her younger sister added, "do you remember Mr. Darcy's mother and father, all the stories of their founding friendship utterly destroyed in a matter of months since their marriage – frightful do you not think?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure Miss Bennet knows more about this then you do, Caroline," Mrs. Graves said, disinterestedly. "It is probably not as dramatic as everyone has painted it to be. Besides, unlike them, Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy have been courting for as long as they knew what the word meant."

"Hyperbole!" Elizabeth accused, though the tremble that had reached her fingers stilled, "I did not think you were capable of it, Mrs. Graves."

"Oh, there is no need for such modesty. Anyone could tell as soon as they saw you two together at your first ball that you chose each other."

"It did not end well for either of us as I recall, at that point my father and mother were up in arms about who Mr. Darcy would eventually declare himself to, me or Jane."

Mrs. Graves chuckled. "And your father won, I daresay he is pleased."

"You give him too much credit; it was only because your brother charmed Jane so much while Mr. Darcy had done nary a thing."

"Yes, he seemed much too focused on filling up your dance card and keeping your company for conversation when neither of you felt up to the task. Or giving each other looks at the card tables, or in parlors when you call on the same families," Mrs. Graves said airily.

With an exaggerated huff, the younger lady grumbled, "Honestly, were you there for every event Mr. Darcy and I attended?"

"No, but I did not have to be, that blush upon your cheeks says volumes enough." With a wink and the lady turned, getting caught in her husband's arms and was then promptly stolen away for a set, once again leaving Elizabeth and Miss Bingley.

Robert Graves and Cecilia nee Bingley, beautifully matched in the same way Bingley and Jane were, but different in a way that she could not explain.

The way the lady smiled, and the way his eyes never left her face; their hands constantly touching – unconsciously or otherwise, where one looked the other would follow and when one moved the other did the same, as if connected by the same string…

Quietly, unexpectedly, Miss Bingley murmured, "I would like a courtship as full as yours…" As if realizing that she had spoken aloud, she shook herself and added, firmly, "Unfortunately, gentlemen of Mr. Darcy's kind are a rare thing indeed, we can only be so lucky."

"Ladies are far too resourceful to believe in luck alone. Coincidences make for a great deal of it, after all. I am sure you of all people can make your own luck, Miss Bingley."

"Be assured, I will be happier than you by half."

"Miss Bingley, it is not a competition," she reminded patiently before they exchanged a nod and parted, just as a small commotion broke out near the foyer of the Bingleys' London townhouse.

.

In the past, Mrs. Bennet ignored the awkward middle daughter in her brood of five, all up until Mary declined her first and perhaps only offer of marriage.

If it had been any other sister, Lydia or Jane, Mrs. Bennet would have applauded the slight.

Mr. Robinson was a literal nobody after all. He was neither rich nor connected, and therefore did not meet the bare minimum expectation that her mother had. Mr. Robinson had taken up residence in a house by one of Mr. Bennet's recently deceased tenants, and had taken some unexplained interest in her.

Mary had chalked it up to Jane being recently engaged, Elizabeth being in town, Lydia being married and Catherine off with Miss Darcy. There was no one else for him to fall in love with really, especially since he only seemed to be interested in the landed gentry of Derbyshire. No doubt he hoped to improve his social standing by marrying her. The other ladies in the county had snubbed him for his advances, and only she remained to receive his attentions.

To be fair, she had welcomed it: Always forgotten, constantly overlooked, never pretty enough; what did she care if Mr. Robinson did not love her?

But actually she did.

Elizabeth had turned down the advances of young men – handsome and rich – and now she was marrying the _crème de la crème_ in the form of her dearest friend while Jane – good, patient, kind Jane – had finally found someone who did not just see her as an item to be displayed, and who cherished the very air she breathed.

Perhaps Mary was selfish. Perhaps she should have said yes. But she was foolish and ugly, and she said no because she wanted something more than to be settled, she wanted to be happy and in love.

Only a day had passed since her one and only proposal, and at twenty, unmarried and unattached, Mrs. Bennet reminded her of her stupidity:

"Why, I could have had all of you married by now! Instead you sit here eating our food, wearing the clothes we buy you and banging away at an instrument we bought! You could be organizing balls, having children, choosing menus!"

"I highly doubt she would be doing anything other than baring sons," Mr. Bennet interjected carelessly, and Mary felt herself stiffen from the remark though her mother seemed to think nothing of the slight as she sniffed.

"I sincerely hope Catherine has found someone while she is away with Miss Darcy, where was it that she went? Mary?"

"Bath." At their economy's expense, she reminded herself with clenched fists. How thoughtless, does mother not know at all of what would befall them if –

Mr. Bennet's cough practically shook the table, his body convulsing slightly as he tried to catch his breath. Mary signalled for more water for him, unwilling to assist him lest he verbally rebuke her as he had the day before.

"Yes," Mrs. Bennet continued, unperturbed, "and why did you not go with them?"

Her eyes flickered, trying not for the first to gauge whether or not the woman cared at all for her husband's health before Mary answered slowly, "You refused my accompanying them because of Mr. Robinson -"

"Yes, and look what you have done! I told you to apologise for your impudence in refusing him, why have you not?"

"I do not want to marry him, mother." Though perhaps that is why she is so adamant in trying to get us all married, Mary thought with some semblance of hope. Perhaps in her own way, her mother was trying to protect them?

"No," the lady screeched, ignoring her husband's coughing fit beside her. "You said no! Jane is engaged and Lydia, by God, is happily married! Where are you and Lizzy, hmm?"

She took the bait, for her mother would not stop the tirade without it, and answered, "Lizzy is being courted by Mr. Darcy mother."

"Exactly! She is fulfilling her duty by marrying a gentleman of fine breeding! Why I never thought I would see the day when Lizzy was the one to make me proud. Jane and Lydia, as much as they are my favourites, they absolutely betrayed me choosing to marry the men they did." She took a petulant sip of her soup before disdainfully declaring, "A man in trade! A lowly soldier Agh! My Jane, my Lydia, could have done so much better!"

"Mr. Robinson is almost as lowly as either of them. I cannot see why you are so upset," she reasoned.

If only it were because of Mrs. Bennet concern about their livelihoods being in danger that resulted in such a reaction, Mary would understand. In such a precarious position as theirs, marriage was the only way to security, Mrs. Bennet should not care who she and her sisters married so long as they were settled and had someone to look after them; and the fact that this was not the case angered her.

Even if Mr. Bingley were in trade, and Lydia's husband a soldier, they loved and cared for her sisters, so why then would it matter? Someday, Mrs. Bennet would rely on their kindness and she would probably only treat them with contempt.

"Yes, but it is you he would have married! Do you not see? You marry your worth Mary! What? Do you expect the Prince Regent to propose to you? Oh, be reasonable child, I thought you more intelligent than that. Though your refusal of him assures me you were never intelligent to begin with."

Mr. Bennet's coughing fit subsided, he took a shaky gulp of water, and did not say anything more as his lady stood from her seat beside him with a dramatic sigh and informed, "I will write to Lizzy to congratulate her, Lord knows Jane did not pass along my message to satisfaction, she is probably upset now that Mr. Darcy did not fight for her when she choose that wretched Mr. Bingley, and he choose to marry Lizzy instead. Harrumph, serves her right!"

The table was silent for several moments, only the sound of silverware against porcelain could be heard when quite suddenly Mary paled. "She does not know, does she?"

"No, and it will stay that way."

"For how long," demanded she, "until we are turned for the street with nothing but the clothes upon our backs?"

He did not reply, only continued to eat his food, pierced through the prongs of the fork and held to his lips with a shaky hand.

.

"You are late," Elizabeth told him, once he turned to notice her.

"Apologies, dearest, it seems the whole street is having some kind of celebration this very night." A few quick strides and Mr. Darcy had crossed the room, taking her hand and bowing over it. For a prolonged pause that could have only been a fraction of a second as their eyes met, and a dimple at his cheek appeared he offered his arm.

"Perhaps they are just happy that two people as deserving as Jane and Mr. Bingley are together so they all feel the need to celebrate on their behalf."

There was a hint of hope in his voice, "Then I am forgiven?"

"Never, Darcy," she retorted, "you know how much I love to lord such trivial things over you."

"What may I do to appease you then?" Mr. Darcy asked, "A dance perhaps?"

Feigning shock, Elizabeth pressed her hand over lips. "A dance? Voluntarily? Oh I could never, that is far too easy a punishment."

"But you know I do not like dancing," he tried to bait.

"Ah, but then you will only have to speak to me, and what kind of practice shall you have socializing if you do not talk to _other _people, hmm?"

He grumbled quietly and she patted his arm in mock comfort. "Come now, Darcy, there are men fighting Napoleon the least you can do is navigate the explosive territory of a ballroom. We shall start off easily enough, greeting our host."

"Does it please you to speak to me like a child?"

"A great many things please me, seeing you try is one of them. Besides, you have not seen Mr. Bingley for quite a while now since their engagement; certainly you would like to speak to him, would you not?"

"Fair enough, I shall accept the mercy you have so kindly given to me."

At his sarcastic tone, she squeezed his fingers with her own. "Beware; you know how cunning I can be."

"You wonder why attending any social event with you brings me steps closer to death," he said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, getting her to squeeze his fingers once more.

"Darcy old man, so good of you to join us!" Mr. Bingley greeted from the middle of the crowd around him. With an exchange of bows and curtsies, he continued, "We hosted this event for Miss Bennet and me, but as it is, you have yet to host one for yourself."

"I shall spare us the time and celebrate with yours," Mr. Darcy responded.

"Ah, I knew you would say that! Perhaps we shall wed in the same ceremony too, then?"

Around them the crowd joined in, entertained.

Almost smiling, he informed, "Actually, my intended desires to elope, what say you?"

Still the people about them cheered, though some were understandably confused about whether or not the gentleman was being serious.

"Trying to get married before me eh? I cannot blame you, old man," Mr. Bingley said, clapping Mr. Darcy's arm. "You have been courting Miss Elizabeth since she came out, it is about time!"

Again, the crowd seemingly agreed, and from the look on Jane's face, she had definitely told stories. Not that Mr. Darcy seemed to mind by the almost pleased expression on his face. She peered up at him then and he coughed and looked away, pretending to be unaffected. When he met her eyes once more, she playfully bumped his side with her elbow and gave him a smile, prompting one of his own.

This did not go unnoticed by Jane, who added, "My hope in marrying for love did not falter, especially after seeing them together for all these years. I owe them for that; otherwise, I might have given myself away too soon."

She shared a loving look with Mr. Bingley. At that, Elizabeth exclaimed, "Our lovely hosts, ladies and gentlemen! Are they not the happiest, luckiest couple to be found?"

The guests cheered and the desire to dance was issued – the bodies that had once surrounded them were then spirited away by the music.

"It is a delight to have you both around once more," Mr. Bingley said, "I was afraid business would keep you away, Darcy. What then would your lady do without you?"

"Entertain myself with caricatures, and then once I see him, tease him with them."

"After making me pay dearly for them, of course," he claimed flatly, to their laughter.

"Truly you have both been practicing matrimony for an age, better late than never," said his friend. "Congratulations to the both of you."

"I wish you the happiest time together as well, Bingley."

"Go on then, dance with my sister," Elizabeth shooed, "just do not keep all her loveliness to yourself, you have the rest of your lives after all."

Admiring the view of the pair as they joined the couples lining the floor, Mr. Darcy spoke, "Shall we dance then, Miss Elizabeth?"

"No, I much prefer to stalk about the ballroom," she said, eyes bright. "Join me?"

"Of course."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

.

The canopy above her head was no longer visible as the fire in the hearth died out and the candles in the hallway were snuffed, but still Mary was awake to stare at it.

After her mother left, supper between her and Mr. Bennet continued in silence, and not long after she had retired to her room where she stayed undisturbed.

The house was quiet.

Mrs. Bennet was likely in her wardrobe, fussing over the clothes within and making a list of new garments she planned on purchasing while Mr. Bennet took to his library, drowning his sorrows out in port and a novel. The former was ignorant, the latter unwilling; and beneath the blankets, the young lady turned.

Through the night her mind raced with scenarios of her future life, a future that was a reality in the making with the existence of the entailment.

Perhaps she would become a governess, most poor genteel ladies took up the station; or maybe she could take up the cloth in some way? There was always a way, Mary knew it.

Still, there was so much she had yet to know of the entailment, and she had to know all before she could make any solid plans.

Despite evidence to the contrary, Mary hoped her father had prepared for his inevitable passing and so she spent the night debating and praying, before unable to stand being ignorant for any longer, she left her bed.

.

"Jane!" Her sister laughed. "You are making quite a spectacle of yourself!"

Within a carriage bound for Darcy House, Elizabeth had planned to entertain her sister with the praises of the attended and how devastated they all were that the gathering had come to its inevitable end. But Jane was unwilling.

"No one shall see," was her mumbled reply as she settled herself against the plush cushion, cheek touching the cool glass of the window.

"Perhaps we should have made our excuses sooner. Bingley would have understood," their companion said from across them.

Yawning, Jane continued to mumble, "No, I could never do that, it would not be very becoming of a lady to leave her own party until it was over…"

"- she says as she drools spectacularly on the window," Elizabeth teased and when her sister turned to burrow herself onto her lap in retribution, Elizabeth grinned and to Mr. Darcy, observed, "I have a feeling Bingley will tire Jane out once they wed."

"I know him; he probably has not slept since yesterday – nervous as he was, and his energy is likely due to his prolonged lack of rest." The state at which they had left the man proved his logic to be sound: Mr. Bingley's vigour was awed at by those attending; "Still a right, fit young man," they said. He had been dancing with Jane yet another set before the evening was done while simultaneously chatting up half his line of fellow dancers, all the while blinking rapidly to stay conscious. It was certainly impressive.

Miraculously, Jane had kept up long enough to end the evening with grace, and not lying on the floor in a puddle of her own slobber. Elizabeth grinned at the thought and soothed her sister when she began to stir.

"I imagine Mr. Bingley will be in a similar state?"

"Most likely," Darcy answered, "he shall do well to thank Miss Bingley for closing the floor; otherwise, he might have fallen asleep at the task."

"Think of the embarrassment of that! Though perhaps had we not departed, everyone would have thought it charming that their hosts fell asleep on their feet. Perhaps their guests shall even think them attentive," she mused, absentmindedly untangling the mess of blonde hair of her sister and lulling her into a deeper sleep.

Mr. Darcy watched with quiet fondness, and when the lady raised a brow in question at the prolonged silence, he remarked, "Your sister is starting to rub off on you, I can tell."

A sudden flash of light in the night through the carriage window caught her eye and she winked. "That must be a relief considering it was Jane who was supposed to marry you, not I," she reminded. "Since you have so stubbornly refused the real thing perchance you shall get to marry someone like her instead?"

His brow knitted, and the corners of his lips dipped into a frown. "Why would I want that?"

Across from him, her shrug was careless, and she avoided his eyes as she waved off the perplexity in his gaze, "Jane is certainly more fitting of a Mistress to Pemberley, would you not agree? Her navigation of the _Ton _was impressive?" When he said nothing, she continued unabated, "Despite being called a spinster by society, I am quite sure she has new admirers already."

"You and Jane would have happily chosen being spinsters, living in your ancestral estate far away from the society of London over being unhappily settled."

"So what you are saying, my dear friend is that if Bingley had not come running for Jane, she would have happily chosen the life of spinsterhood with me?"

"Not necessarily with you," he answered slowly, "I think she would have chosen it if she did not find anyone to whom she could love."

"But if you had married her -"

"She would never agree to marry me, you know that very well," he said with a smirk. "As sweet as she is, she would hardly be happy with a husband who refuses to leave his estate. Pemberley is far removed from society of any kind besides yours, and beyond your estate, I have no need for the rest of it."

It was her turn to cock a brow at him, one hand settling neatly on top of the other. For all intents and purposes, she looked the part of a proper, intimidating lady that he knew her capable to be. If he had not been the recipient of such a look since his formative years, he might have been afraid, even as she spoke with the strictness of a headmaster. "You are not becoming a hermit under my watch."

He allowed this, begrudgingly, "Perhaps when we are in town, but even then business would prevent -"

"You cannot expect me to believe that you shall always be busy with business," she argued, "Shall that be your excuse for everything, even when we are married?"

"Well, _now_ I do not think so," he pretended to mutter.

"You are infuriating, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"You love me anyway."

She huffed, feigning annoyance before remarking, "I certainly hope you are not going to be so difficult when we have children." Though she had said it in jest there was a worried edge that he had no mind to allow, all too aware of her sore relationship with her mother and the strained environment she was raised in.

"Be assured, I shall be the most exasperating father a child could ever hope for," said he with enthusiasm, "I shall teach them to ride and skate myself. We shall go on picnics and climb the highest trees and every night they will want to perform some play, some piece of music or read something aloud, and I shall applaud them and praise them so loudly they will be torn between pride and embarrassment."

Her chuckle was expected, a tease he could already hear on the tip of her tongue, but one day he would prove to her that if he could offer her anything at all it was a happy home life. Neither of them had been too fortunate in that department after all.

"There is hope for you yet Darcy," she approved.

Before either could say anything more, Jane snorted in her sleep.

Sharing a look, her intended stifled his laugh with a cough while she simply grinned. There were several moments of silence in which her fair haired sister took to mumbling in her sleep, scrunching her nose and unceremoniously wiping some saliva off her lips.

"Rather un-ladylike, do you not think?" Elizabeth asked with a snicker after another shared look between them.

"Oh yes because it is reasonable to believe a lady always looks and acts like a lady." When she snorted at the sarcasm in his voice, he added, "It is a wonder indeed why it is so shocking for one to be so tired that they forget posture and etiquette and all such a manner, in the same way that one would be shocked at another's petticoats six inches deep in mud when the lady has chosen to traipse about after a storm."

"Indeed, it is a wonder." Her eyes shone mischievously. "Tell me Darcy, does your Aunt Catherine still insist that I am a barbarian of some sort for it?"

"Of course, but it was not completely unfounded."

Surprised, her brow arched. "Oh?"

"You did risk getting sick yourself to come and see Georgiana," he pointed out. "Granted, she was grateful for the company, but even I was bewildered at your arrival at so early in hour and in such a state." Furious was more appropriate, after escorting her above floors to see his ill sister, he berated her soundly for her carelessness to which she retaliated with far too many cunning words and that arch look of hers that had him charmed in moments.

"She was as much my sister then as she will be when we wed," his intended stated primly, causing a warm feeling to grow in his chest. "But why did my state surprise you so? I would walk that distance again if you were the one caught by the rain the night before."

"The _Ton_ would be in an uproar if they had seen you that day," he reminded, though was pleased nonetheless by her reply.

She rolled her eyes, turning to glare out the window. "The _Ton_ is always at an uproar. Gossip, scandal and the lives of others are the only matters of interest to them, even if it is about something as frivolous as mud at the hem of my dress."

"Oh I was not talking about that," he waved off, "a dress six inches soaked in mud is hardly noticeable."

"Then however did I cause offense then, if not for my dress? Was it the assumption that Georgiana would even want visitors while she was of ill health?" That seemed always to be the case where Lady Catherine of Rosings was concerned, she was not overly fond of interlopers and Elizabeth was not exempt.

"That; and it was you in general."

Her eyes flew back towards him. "I feel as if I should be offended."

"Indeed, especially since my aunt had the gall to think that the escapade would lessen my regard for you and your fine eyes."

She found herself feel warm by the compliment, not that she had not heard it before. Though, to be fair it was the first time he had ever mentioned it directly to her.

When she did not respond immediately, he raised a brow like he had not complimented her at all and expected her to banter with him as if he was not changing the nature of their relationship one comment at a time.

"How so?"

"For some reason she thought the state of your dress would take away from them when in fact they enhanced them quite beautifully," A corner of his cheek dimpled, and he added roguishly, "as it is now. I never knew you to blush so Elizabeth is my flattery too much for you?"

"Is it your intention to embarrass me sir, for you are succeeding marvellously," she retorted.

"I do my best, though I would prefer to be accused of trying to charm you instead."

"Now what would you possibly gain from such an act?"

"A dance you willingly accept without teasing me mercilessly for it," he answered, brow raised in challenge.

"Did we not dance enough at my coming out? You did almost have a monopoly on my sets that night."

"It was just as much your doing as it was mine."

She gasped at the charge laid against her. "'Tis not my fault you insisted on standing about and staring fearsomely at people. You are handsome already. All you needed to do was approach the young ladies and converse; they would have appreciated it, I am sure," she informed prudishly.

"A bit too late for that, I am afraid."

"Again, whose fault would that be Darcy?" Elizabeth asked archly, "I told you, if you did not talk to anyone, you would have to dance with me! What a scandal we caused that night!"

As the carriage rolled to a stop, he opened the door while his intended gently woke her sister. Alighting from the vehicle, he offered a hand to help the eldest Miss Bennet out and handed her to the support of her awaiting lady's maid before repeating the action with Elizabeth.

For her there was no waiting servant, and therefore no witness besides herself to hear his reply, "Perhaps that was my intention."

"Sly as always, are you not, Mr. Darcy," she said, silently cursing him for bringing the blush back to her cheeks in full force. "I shall remember this."

"I hope you do." He stopped at the staircase, turning to her and pressing a kiss against her hand. "Sleep well, Elizabeth."

Squeezing his hand, she gave him a small smile, almost bashful and still feeling hopeless and confusingly embarrassed by the whole thing, she replied, "I intend to. Good night."

.

The answers Mary sought were not to be found; at the very least the answers she hoped to find were absent from her father's desk and might perhaps be somewhere else...

Illuminated by candlelight, she shuffled the papers about, scanning the pages and records kept about the finance of the estate.

As a girl of seventeen summers, her eldest sister Jane had taught her to read ledgers and journals, and understand what the information they contained meant. Besides finding solace in the verses and discussing the ideas of Fordyce, it was the one other thing she had in common with the most handsome of the Bennet girls.

Jane had said, with amusement, that she had tried to teach Elizabeth in the past and though she understood the concepts well enough she bore easily of the task.

Surprising still was the fact that their father had allowed them to even learn of the running of the estate at all. As daughters, and even more so as daughters without an estate to inherit, there was no need for such an education, and yet Jane was there, perhaps more qualified in managing the land and tenants than most. Elizabeth teased that it was because their sister did not have the heart of a poet, rather the heart of bookkeeper.

Better than nothing, Mary continued to muse, the world has many a bard in the making, arithmetic was an art form on its own, ladylike or not.

It was one of the reasons, Mary thought, that she admired her older sisters so. Beauty, wit and goodness aside, they could appreciate the qualities of one thing without depraving the accomplishment of another.

But such a thought was not a comfort at the moment when she found nothing to indicate any preparation made by her father for the impending future.

Casting the pages aside, she sat heavily at the desk with her head in her hands; her eyes squeezed shut to suppress the panic and anger she felt.

Worse still, if the ledger were correct (and she had no doubt that they were), their father owed quite a sum of money for the expansion of the estate done several years ago he had yet to pay back. If her calculations were correct, it would likely cost a large chunk of her sisters' dowry.

How –

How could he do this to them? How could he damn their present _and _their future like this?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

.

It was early by town time, but the pair had both spent a large portion of their lives in the country and were made to rise with the cattle, so to speak. By half past six, they were both at the breakfast table, ready to face the day – he, a little more so than she. "You look like you have been dragged from your bed."

"Charming," she retorted, slipping onto the empty chair to his right. "Is that any way to talk to your intended? Where are my compliments and monologues about my beauty?"

Loudly, Darcy opened the newspaper, resting it atop the table for her to see as well. "You would likely throttle me for saying such things to you when you are not in the mind to receive it."

Sweetly, she posed, "What if all I needed was a few kind words by the right gentleman, hmm?"

Looking thoughtful, he asked, "So would you be willing to receive such loving declarations then, darling?"

"No," she cheekily replied.

He made an incredulous sound that only drew a laugh from her. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Perhaps you know me too well," she considered, "I would be careful if I were you, you might tire of me before we even wed."

Turning a page, Darcy snorted. "I highly doubt that," he said, "you take too great a pleasure in shocking me and I take too great a pleasure in being shocked."

"Hmm, maybe we are happily matched after all."

With a dramatic sigh of relief, the gentleman enthused, "I am glad you are finally admitting it."

Chuckling, she leaned over to read the bits of text. Her intent search and furrowed brow did not go unobserved by her companion and a dimple at his cheek formed, which she noticed.

"Are you laughing at me sir?"

"I would never have seen you perusing the society pages as thoroughly as you are doing right now that is all…Worried about something, are we?"

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth answered, taking the paper for herself, "Jane has been in a nervous state after finding Bingley's mother absent from the party last night. You know how desperately she wanted the event to go well, which in her opinion did not as Mrs. Bingley did not attend it."

"Regardless," said he, "everyone seemed to have a wonderful time, at least from my experience of such things."

"Which is usually limited to how comfortable your chosen alcove for the night is," she was quick to point out.

"I would not know I am afraid dearest, you insisted on my company all evening."

Elizabeth hid a grin. "Mores the pity my dear, I apologize. If I knew my presence was such a burden to you perhaps I should have thrown you to the debutantes instead?"

"I think you find joy in causing me distress," he retorted.

She winked. "Only so that I may comfort you." Her attention turned back to the words splayed before her. "Besides, you did not seem miserable as I recall."

"I had the undivided attention of the most handsome woman in the room, why on earth would I be miserable?"

"Oh hush, what did we say about early morning declarations of beauty?"

"I was speaking of the ball yesterday evening and you seemed willing at the time to be the recipient of such compliments."

She rolled her eyes, feeling herself flush as she focused once more on the task at hand. "Jane is convinced that Mrs. Bingley did not attend because she was unwell."

"Perhaps she was." Even then, he too sounded unconvinced. His close friend's mother was as robust as his Aunt Catherine. As a lady still trying desperately to escape the hold that trade had on her, Mrs. Bingley never turned down the opportunity to be present in any event.

"She does not approve of Jane."

"The ball was in high spirits. I highly doubt Mrs. Bingley's absence was noted."

"Still, you know how gentle Jane is," she reminded, her search for answers becoming frantic, "if it was mentioned in the paper, and those ghastly society matrons were to hear a word about it – oh, they have been hoping for an age that Jane would be slighted! They would use it against her at every opportunity -"

He reached over and covered her hand with his, stilling her panic. "Jane shall be fine, what anyone thinks is a trifle."

"But Mrs. Bingley is not a trifle."

"Even then," he said firmly, "Bingley could not hope to do better than her."

"That much is true." Then, predictably, his intended launched into a passionate speech about her sister's virtue, goodness and all the many qualities that made Jane Bennet the epitome of perfection. Those society matrons would not dare to be cruel to her sister, not if she had anything to say about it.

"Dearest," he patiently interrupted, "if you carry on in such a way I shall think you are trying to convince me of something."

"Convince you of what?" It took her barely a moment before her words rushed back at to her.

The memories of her mother in ballrooms, card parties and tearooms were riddled with her routine of presenting the sheer perfection of Jane – her suitability, her goodness, her beauty. Was that not what Elizabeth had just done?

With her mother previously insisting on Darcy's impending marriage to Jane, it sounded as if Elizabeth wanted him to change his mind about which Bennet she wanted him to wed. The words she had uttered – intended or otherwise – were taken right out of Mrs. Bennet's mouth.

"Oh no, I sounded like my mother for a second did I not?" Horrified, she covered her mouth with her hands. "Darcy, the saying is true!'The woman you marry will inevitably become her mother.' Oh the tragedy, the trepidation! What will become of me now?"

Amused, he asked, "Whatever do you mean?"

Dramatically, she wrung out one of the serviettes on the table, dabbing at her dry eyes as she continued, "You will not want to marry such a silly, insipid lady! Oh, a spinster I shall be after all!"

"You were defending your beloved sister from anyone who finds her lacking; there is nothing wrong with that," he said, gesturing for a waiting manservant to attend to him with the letters he was carrying.

"But convincing you to marry her instead with my performance?"

"I have been aware of all those traits of Jane with which you spoke of, yet I do not find myself inclined to marry her more than usual," he informed her, separating the stack of papers in piles for business and invitations. When she did not respond, he added, "Which is to say, not at all. I thought I have been clear in the past, I do not want to marry Jane."

Elizabeth huffed, still touched by her mother's dramatics. "Then I have done an awful job in expounding her good qualities."

"Not at all; only that I am more interested in the person giving the speech rather than the person she speaks so highly of."

"Ridiculous man," she muttered, stubbornly attributing the warmth on her cheeks to the steam from her teacup.

His smile was boyish.

She chose then to ignore him, favouring the newspaper still spread before her. She felt silly for it; of course, quite like the younger lady she once was every time Darcy had done something of a similar nature in the past. To her misery, she still could not fathom a way to respond to his attention besides bashful embarrassment.

"Anything of interest?" he asked eventually.

"Yes," she cheered immediately, clearing her throat to read the citation, "Miss B of Derbyshire hosted a delightful evening at the house of her intended. Merriment was aplenty and happiness abound. The couple, along with their good friends Mr. D and Miss B also of Derbyshire, is to be wed in the autumn."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Darcy."

"Yes?"

"When were you going to tell me that we are to be married in the autumn?"

"It is quite a surprise for me as well," he answered casually, "if it is true, I was serious when I told you that I am at your disposal. An autumn ceremony in Gretna Green it is, then."

"Oh, for goodness' sake Darcy, why must you tease me at a time like this?"

"I am learning from my betters," was his reply.

"Darcy," she whined. "At any time I would find this just as amusing as you do, but to have our nuptials lumped with Jane's? Who are people more interested in, you or Bingley?"

"I would have hoped it would be neither of us…"

"But," she prompted.

He sighed. "I am titled, the master of a grand estate, the nephew of so-and-so," he parroted as she had done many times in the past to remind him of his station whenever it eluded him.

Frowning at the page before her, Elizabeth murmured, "Do you think Jane will see it that way too?"

"You and I both know Jane is easy to please, I think having her efforts acknowledged by the _Ton _is all she will care for. Perhaps she will tease us that we are to be married together."

"Yes, yes I suppose that would be more likely." As her teacup was being filled, Elizabeth instructed the maid, "Maggie, if you would be so kind as to deliver this to my sister with her breakfast."

Darcy raised his brows curiously. "Is Jane not joining us?"

"Afraid not," she answered, taking a delicate sip of her newly filled cup. "She will be breaking fast in bed."

"Is there a particular reason for this?"

Feigning innocence, his lady then took to examining the plate of food before her while responding, "Is being alone with your intended so dreadful?"

He exhaled through his nose, a chuckle following. "Considering the last time we were alone we reached an understanding, and you have bemoaned it ever since."

"'Bemoan' is such a strong word, you know very well that if I absolutely have to marry, you would be my first choice in the matter," she said, condescendingly in a manner reminiscent of his Aunt Catherine.

"Are there others though," he teased, "do they write you awful poetry and butcher sonnets in your honour?"

"You vex me so," she informed, rolling her eyes at the triumphed look on his face. "Regardless, one time out of the many in the past is not such a bad record, do you not think?"

"Well it certainly was not disagreeable." A corner of his lips was raised in a smirk, and she shook her head with a smile.

"You have no shame, sir."

"It was a happy situation, is all I am trying to say." Before she could retort, he interrupted, "A letter from home dearest."

As she took it from him, she glimpsed the family crest that kept the parchment folded, and flicked it open. "It is from mother." There was a tinge of apprehension in her words, and he glanced at her curiously.

With her shoulders squared, her eyes took to scanning the missive quickly, a frown growing with each line she completed until, with a surprised sound, she declared, "Mary turned down a proposal!"

"Mary? Our Mary?"

"Oh, I never knew that wretched Mr. Robinson would ever go that far, and to do so in front of Mary's company! The poor thing must be so embarrassed…" Turning the page over in search of more answers, Elizabeth was met with a blank page and she sighed in aggravation. "Of course my mother would only offer that, no doubt Mary has been thoroughly reprimanded for the slight on the man, he was her only suitor after all."

"If you could call him that," Darcy said with snort. "The only reason he proposed was, no doubt, the fact that Mary is the only eligible gentleman's daughter in the county who has not slighted him yet. Though I suppose with this development he has no one to set his cap on now, especially since you and Jane are already engaged."

"Do not sound so pleased."

"It is too late, I already am. I am sure Mary will be fine, if anything we may offer her sanctuary if your mother wishes to hold it against her for as long as she did you." When Elizabeth continued to frown, he prodded, "Was there nothing else to be said in the letter?"

She cast it aside with a huff, answering dully, "Nothing except my mother's vulgar congratulations and a brief gripe about how my father's ill health is making it difficult to plan for a ball."

Usually Elizabeth would not be particularly perturbed about the happenings at home – her mother's behaviour was a given and her father's constant need for potions had been expected after almost two years of poor health – but Mary…Mary had always been the stable daughter, the one who remained unfazed with absolutely anything society both in Town and in Derbyshire had to say about her. But this?

Even Elizabeth with the general approval of their neighbours, was scorned somewhat in their circles for declining to marry that Collins man almost a year prior, thanks to her mother's loud lamenting to whoever wanted to hear her, and she was not untouched by such harshness.

"If we were not to travel home two days from now, I would gladly invite her to stay with us," Darcy offered.

"I know you would, and I am grateful for your kindness, I just wish there was something more I could do for her…" The thought of Mary being bombarded not only by their father's ill-health, but now by their mother's unhappiness at yet another declined proposal, brought a protective urge in Elizabeth, and not being able to act on it made her unhappy.

"Well we are bringing Catherine and Georgiana back with us, I am sure Mary would appreciate the focus being drawn away from her," he comforted.

When she said nothing further, he asked, "Shall I burn the note?"

"Yes please."

.

There was a carefulness about them that was endearing and sweet; the strum of a harp before the song, the pulling of the string from within the pianoforte as one found the melody, the anticipation of standing before your intended – hands at your sides, gazing across the space before finally, the first step was taken and everything else fell effortlessly into place.

Love, Jane had decided, was just like dancing.

It was precise in its steps and yet natural in its movement, filled with anticipation and apprehension, excitement and nervousness, a feeling of being free and yet wanting to be held close; dancing and love alike was filled with contradiction, and she liked that.

Under the guise of chaperoning each other, the couples, that is Jane and Bingley and Elizabeth and Darcy, wandered about the park intending to enjoy the scenery instead the latter were debating the themes of a novel they had both read and decided that nudging each other as they walked was enough to emphasis their respective points. They were careless and helplessly affectionate in the little things they did around one another – every teasing glance between them, haughty raise of the brow and dip of the lips, and their hands touching each other at some point in the conversation as they laughed and spoke of everything and nothing at once.

Yet there were moments of silence between them, in the middle of the conversation and teasing, when they lapsed into a comfortable quiet and were simply content with being: listening to the other, basking in the company and lingering longer than was simply courteous.

But the anticipation was there.

Jane had an inkling that Darcy and Elizabeth had been in love long before they knew what the word meant.

Perhaps it was not a sudden affection; they had fought as children. In terms of dancing they preferred to step on each other's toes rather than come together in harmony, but they had grown passed it and though they did not fall into the set steps of the performance, they came up with their own and danced together as beautifully as she had ever seen anyone.

Jane had no doubt that her headstrong sister would deny it and claim their closeness on the grounds of their long friendship, but love was love, whether you fell in it or walked towards it.

No one loved in the same way.

She had done the former after all.

Her hand comfortably tucked into her intended's, they strolled on.

Casually, they conversed, but there was that trembling of excitement, the tentativeness of their smiles and casual touches. And the blushing! Jane felt very much like a little girl again. Beyond her and Mr. Bingley, their future stretched before them with certainty – married, children; a life that was finally whole, and nothing would stand in the way of that, not even her mother's disapproval, and perhaps, his as well…

"I am sorry again that she was not able to attend," Mr. Bingley said, scratching his head and wincing in embarrassment.

She felt her smile falter, but shook her head. "It is perhaps for the best…she does not quite like me after all."

"No, no it is not that," said he, waving a hand about as if to physically dismiss the claim. "It is not a personal thing I assure you, it is probably because I am her only son…"

Though she understood in part his mother's plight, Jane asked curiously, "So she has been so with every woman you have had an interest for?"

He flushed before saying awkwardly, "There have not been many actually…"

"Hmm, Darcy would beg to differ," she teased lightly, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips causing him to defend in amusement, "He would say as much, though in my defence I was young and found myself oft distracted by ladies far less beautiful than you."

"Is that so?" his lady asked with a laugh.

"Indeed, and perhaps my mother is also worried about how important I am making you," he answered, squeezing her hand. "For the longest time it has just been me, her and Caroline…Dearest, I beg you to understand and forgive her, she does not mean to slight you."

"Of course my love, but it is still a few months yet until we are wed," she trailed, "I know it is silly of me, but are you quite sure you want to marry me?" Jane had no doubt that she wanted to be Mrs. Charles Bingley, but his mother was protective and the most important person to him besides his wife to be. She did not want to force him to choose between them.

They stopped, and he turned to face her, her hands in his as he gently squeezed them once more. "Jane, do not say such a thing. There is no one else I could want but you. My mother, she will come around, she has to."

Though she felt encouraged by his declaration, her returning smile was uneasy.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

.

Elizabeth shook her head at the note, another that had arrived from home several hours later following her mother's epistle, the next day. This one left her in far better spirits though as she read on, amused, she continued her leisurely turn about the room in the very same library that had led to the engagement of herself and her dearest friend. This time, they were not alone. A fact that did not deter Darcy as he openly stared and wondered at the cause of his intended's smile.

Perhaps a letter from her sisters, Catherine or Lydia, or maybe even from Georgiana (the thought of his sister being hers made him smile), but alas – if it were the latter, he would have received one as well and then he would join in her merriment rather than simply observing it.

"I always knew that you had a habit of staring at Lizzy, though I do remember you at least trying to hide it," Jane said, her book low enough to reveal her smile though her eyes remained glued to the words before her.

His own book long forgotten on his knee, he commented, "I could never hide it; your sister is quite apt at reminding me."

"No doubt."

Loudly, the older Bennet turned a page with a wistful sigh, and he took to saying, "Have the words of the play upset you? I did not know that the 'Taming of the Shrew' was a sad story."

"Ha-ha," she mocked with a dramatic roll of her eyes before glancing at him. "I shall have you know that the thought of you so lovesick over Lizzy is endearing, and that sigh was a happy one."

"Forgive me; I still require practice at such social queues."

"I would gladly take up the task, Darcy," said the object of their conversation as she came to sit on the divan beside him. "Though I am offended - after all this time you still require the instruction? Am I such a horrible teacher?"

"Not at all, only that I am a horrible student." She shoved him jokingly with her shoulder, and he snickered in response. "It is also because I know you like to be useful," he finished before he lifted his book and opened a page to read.

After several moments of silence between the three of them, Elizabeth spoke to her sister, "Did you know that papa is desolate?"

"How so? You looked terribly amused by his missive."

"It was a humorous one," insisted she with a grin, "he is desolate 'Darcy has finally grown some sense. Oh he had it a satisfactory amount in the past, but now he has it in abundance. It is only a shame that I had to lose a daughter for him to be so, I thought him kinder to an old man's sensibilities'."

"You thrive in his esteem of you, do you not?" Jane said, all too aware of how much trust Elizabeth placed on their father.

Sitting straighter at the mere thought, she remarked, "It is nice to be thought of as important."

"No doubt you will remain so, even more likely that you shall be the most important thing to mother now that you shall be Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire."

Despite the book covering his face, Elizabeth could sense the frown on his features. Any mention of her mother never brought him any particular joy unless they were deconstructing letters from the lady in the same fashion they did with his Aunt Catherine. It was one of the many reasons they were friends, when one of them did not like a person, the other would not either purely on principle.

She rested a hand on his knee to ease him. "The only person I wish to be important to from now on is my husband to be, is that not what mother insists?"

"It helps that he is already so important to you," Jane said, feigning that the gentleman was not with them that very moment. "You were inconsolable when he left for university, whining endlessly about how he would find some other lady to distract him and how he would not write to you anymore."

Elizabeth glared at her sister, but the bit of embarrassment seemed worth it as the frown on Mr. Darcy's face disappeared and in its place came the bashful blushing that would have been unbecoming if it had not been so charming. Feeling wicked, she casually observed, "Why would I not be? My intended is an avid reader, so avid in fact that he can read books upside down."

Automatically, he brought the book away from his face, confusion and a dread in his eyes as he flipped the front cover to find it the right way up. Too late was the discovery, however, as his companions laughed.

"Oh Darcy, am I so distracting to you?" She fluttered her lashes in a way that he always complained that ladies did, and he hid behind his book again with a grumble.

Jane took pity on him."Not everything is about you sweeting. Do not get pig headed now just because Mr. Darcy is a better match than my Mr. Bingley."

"How on earth is Darcy a better match?"

Still behind his novel, the gentleman in question drolly replied, "I resent that."

"Oh? Bingley writes her poetry and sends her flowers..." and gives her tokens, and proposes like a gentleman, and –

"You once said that poetry would kill love stone dead," he deadpanned.

"See, your gentleman remembers what you tell him," Jane pointed out, lazily flicking a page she had not read.

"True enough, I concede then perhaps I do have the best match," Elizabeth winked, "any regrets, sister of mine?"

"Oh not at all, Mr. Bingely's sonnets are not works of art, but they are sweet," her sister said, her smile sheepish, getting her to laugh. Jane had not the best taste in poetry, something she was well aware of and a fact that was the source of much teasing, it certainly seemed fitting that she was with a man that did not have it any better.

Elizabeth casually asked, "But do they have words with more than five syllables?"

"Lizzy, it is not always about the length of a word," was the petulant reprimand.

"Really? Papa insists it is so, a mark of decisiveness or something of that nature," she informed, patting the letter in the pocket of her dress as she spoke. "He says you and Bingley shall be cheated by your servants and neither of you shall agree on anything."

Darcy snorted. "Now, that I believe."

"Oh hush, you and papa are forever teasing me, but _et tu_, Mr. Darcy?" When her companions only laughed, Jane waved a hand about. "Oh, you have had your amusement at my expense, now tell me, when are Georgiana and Catherine to arrive?"

"Are you planning to distract us with their arrival?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, I plan on lamenting to poor Miss Darcy how awful an influence her brother's intended has on him, and perhaps guilt her for leaving me with the two of you," she declared with an overdramatic sniff of disdain.

"Well you will wait a few hours more," Mr. Darcy said, "The girls are not expected until this evening, unless they are delayed."

They were not; in fact, their siblings arrived a mere two hours later.

Georgiana, despite smiling and enthusiastically chatting with them upon arrival, did not seem as happy as she made herself appear. More so as Catherine and she spoke aside and the name "Wickham" was uttered.

.

Impulsiveness had never really been Catherine's forte; that was usually Lydia's expertise. As it was now, however, Catherine wished she lived and made decisions as her younger sister had.

Running away to get married! Oh, it was the stuff of great love stories.

She had a mind to do it herself, but she could never attract people as easily as Lydia could. She did not have the good humour Lydia exuded, the comfort of accomplishment Mary had, the obvious goodness of Jane or the sparkling wits of Elizabeth. She was nothing like them. But she tried to be, and right now, without the shadow of her sisters or the effortlessly cool air of Georgiana at her side, Catherine could finally be whomever she wanted.

Standing in the middle of the London rush, frozen by possibility and the fear of being seen right through, she did not dare move an inch because to say that little Kitty Bennet felt invisible was incorrect – she felt entirely too visible and completely ignored.

Staggering back as more people moved in the opposite direction to where she stood, she regained her balance on trembling feet and walked back to where she had lost Georgiana.

_Perhaps she got distracted by the new pianoforte in the display_, Catherine thought, retracing her steps, and already longing to be back at quaint cottage she and Georgiana stayed at only a few hours ago.

Going out was a mistake, she decided.

Bath, despite being a place of relaxation, had few amusements beyond that and because she, and Georgiana grew up in a quiet county of the North, the buzz of town had an extended allure, one that seemed to be fading with every minute that she searched for her friend.

Entering the shop with the prized instrument in the window, Catherine looked about.

It was not particularly busy, but the owner was engrossed with discussing the finer points of the musical equipment his establishment sold with an enthusiastic young boy and his father.

No Georgiana in sight. What now?

Back to Darcy House she supposed, Georgiana was probably found by some ladies of fashion and now they were off to high tea or whatever it was they did. Despite _being_ of Georgiana's circle, Catherine had little idea of what such a thing even meant - it always felt like she was staring at herself from the outside watching the world move around her while she remained completely static.

Until someone's eyes met hers; his body moving in her direction and her name slipping from his lips.

"Oh no…" She turned; too late to pretend she had not noticed him before he was inside the store – dashing smile and disarming eyes.

"Miss Bennet, I was not expecting you in London so soon."

She curtsied. "Mr. Wickham, fancy meeting you here…"

"Well the circumstances I face are always under constant change, the life of a journalist I suppose." His smile was sheepish, but she could not help but think it was practiced. "I hope your journey was pleasant, and you are both in good health." He glanced about and wondered almost innocently, "Where is Miss Darcy?"

"Unavailable."

His eyes widened in surprise, and even she was pleasantly impressed with herself. Icy. Cold. Just like Mary – she would be proud.

Voice lowering, he said, "I hope I have not upset you in any way..."

"Upset?" This…this cad!

They had met while in Bath. He was a writer of sorts for the paper following up on some exposé about a rich gentleman and the suspicious dealings he was reportedly having with Napoleon sympathizers. Both she and Georgiana were quite enamoured with the man. He was handsome to be sure, well read, easily liked, good humoured (if not a bit flirtatious in his manner) and generally good company. He had offered to show them about when he could, to reveal haunts that only the locals knew of and made the introductions with whomever he thought important for them to know.

Georgiana had written him short notes during that time and he seemed to reciprocate with the way he paid extra attention to her.

However, he left altogether without a word to them and they only discovered two days afterwards that Mr. Wickham was sent for and had to return to London…was it possible that Georgiana's hastened return to her brother's home was because of Wickham?

Perish the thought; her level-headed friend would never!

"Sir, you left without a proper good bye and I cannot stand for such rudeness. Miss Darcy was incredibly hurt!"

His eyes darkened as he frowned. "It was not my intention I assure you, but I am at the disposal of my betters; when one says go I must."

"You left without a second glance back," she huffed, feeling the reminiscence of Lydia's influence shining through her petulance.

"It was not without reason…"

"And what would this reason be?"

There was a single beat, a moment's hesitation before almost without thought, he confessed, "I am in love with Miss Darcy."

This changes everything!

"I…I did not know what do with my feelings…I had to leave before I did something brash," he said, slowly, uncertainly. "But…now I find that my feelings will not be repressed any longer…I will speak to her brother."

"Oh, no sir, I am afraid that is not possible," Catherine said, gently. "Mr. Darcy rarely ever accepts visitors…and tonight he is to attend the theatre…"

"After that then?"

Remorseful for even thinking to judge the man, she answered sadly, "We are leaving for the North sir." In love with Georgiana! Oh, how delighted her friend would be, and yet how sad too as they would probably not get to be together at all. How tragic love could be!

"Ah…no matter…it is fate's design then for us to remain apart…all the better I suppose, her family would never approve…"

"Oh sir, no!"

He was already moving away to leave, one foot behind him as he made his exit, "Do not tell Miss Darcy about seeing me, please, I would not wish to get her hopes up for I have already had to suffer with my own…"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

.

George Wickham was not an honest man. Lying, he discovered, was a necessary evil especially in the case of love. Internally he groaned at the mess he might have just avoided causing, or perhaps made worse by trying to fix with more lies.

His brother, rest his soul, had always said his flirtatious nature would get him into trouble one day. Then again, the man had shot himself to avoid debtors' prison for his gambling habit so what on earth did he know?

Impatiently rapping his knuckles against the table, he glared at the papers before him, willing to set them alight by sheer force of will.

"Come on then Wickham," Denny prodded, "it isn't too bad of a situation now is it?"

"They are publishing _that_."

The other man nodded; his expression earnest. "I told you it would pay well, didn't I?"

"What about the other one?"

"Other one?"

He sifted through the first print of the paper due out come morning the next day, and not finding over two months' worth of his love and labour within it, he cast it aside with a grunt.

Denny scowled. "Oi, be careful with that would you? It took me ages to convince that old man to let me have an early copy!" Quickly, the paper was retrieved, any creases smoothed out and corners neatened before it was folded once more into a pile.

George expected it really. Though he had been working hard at the paper for years, the old man would never take anything he wanted to publish seriously, and the bitterness sat like a stone at the pit of his stomach.

"A fat lot of good it did," he grumbled to himself.

"What are you on about now?"

"The story, Den, my story."

"This is your story!"

Goat, he thought with a roll of his eyes. "The war Denny, Napoleon, that man that I have been chasing from one side of the country to the other, the reason I went to Bath. Is any of what I am saying making sense to you?"

For a moment there was no recognition on his face, but then the man's mouth moved to form an 'o' and finally George stopped feeling as if he could have a better conversation with a wall.

"The rags pay more, and the old man said you still need more evidence if you want that other story to go to print."

He knew the list of excuses off by heart, but still, the annoyance he felt is fierce."More evidence? I have procured every single thing he has asked of me, what more does he need?" Frustrated was a very familiar feeling for the gentleman in all but name, when all attempts at recognition and ambition led nowhere but more work and no gain, George began to understand why his brother preferred death over poverty.

"I wouldn't bother with it anyway," Denny waved off, "you'll get yours with the rag. The rag is where the money is!"

True as it was, the man still had some dignity.

"You can't be picky, your father and brother's debts are yours now and if you don't pay them back," he trailed off in warning.

"I know, I know."

Still, the thought of squeezing a young lady's secrets out and using her connections to further weave the web from which the rags were created made his skin crawl. George did not want to be a journalist to be some kind of newspaper gossip. He had been the second son for God's sake! He knew he would get nothing beneficial from his father's passing and he did not expect to, but the least he wanted out of life was a profession he did not despise.

"No," Denny interjected, practically reading the direction his thoughts were taking, "Wickham, I know you don't feel right about this, but the fact of the matter is you need to survive, those debts aren't going to pay themselves off, and if you don't make at least a few payments, they're going to come for you."

He scoffed, but the bitterness felt like bile rising in his throat. Rationally, George knew it made no difference what some commoner or stranger says about some bird on one of the upper tiers of London society. He needed to make a living.

However, he held no ill will towards Georgiana Darcy or anyone associated with her. Though he did not have a sister, he did have a brother and his behaviour as well as their father's was enough to get him and his mother, mere third parties with the same last name, thrown into hot water as a result, and he could not imagine putting anyone in a similar situation by any means. He knew, better than most, how powerful the right words to the wrong people were.

Denny continued, "This wasn't even that explicit. You just said the Darcy girl was spotted having a flirtation while on holiday which wasn't a lie, and you mentioned that she'd be back in town by today. That's all."

"That will be all," he confirmed.

"But Wickham –"

"Listen to me, I know those debts need to be paid, but at what cost to me, and at what cost to an innocent young lady?"

"A few more pieces," Denny bargained, "a few more payments like the one you got reporting on the Darcy girl will be enough to get those debtors off your back. Write them like you wrote this one, not too detailed, but just vague enough to catch attention. People will always talk regardless of whether you write to encourage it; you might as well get paid, yeah?"

George could feel a headache coming on.

"I will speak to the old man, see if I can sell the story about that sympathizer in Bath –" When Denny opened his mouth to dissuade him from the task, George only raised a hand, "- and only if he refuses will I consider the other option, but not before then."

.

Catherine stomached tea with a Mrs. Reginald upon her return to Darcy House, an occasion which usually would not be so difficult if Georgiana had not been sitting across her, and both ladies had not been so curious as to where she had been.

Unsure of how to tell Georgiana about her earlier encounter with Mr. Wickham, let alone with Mrs. Reginald present, Catherine only laughed awkwardly and continued to consume copious amounts of tea while her sisters watched suspiciously.

Thankfully, Mrs. Reginald was not overly concerned for her, and continued to pry into the lives of Jane and Elizabeth. Mrs. Reginald was not an awful lady to be sure, but she clung and grasped and pulled at any thread of interesting information she was offered! It was tiresome to pretend that they were not offended by the intrusion to their privacy.

The theatre, an invitation the lady extended, was much better – at least only during intermission could she attempt to insert herself into their fold. However, with the way Darcy's jaw was working, even that was too much.

Still, the production was a thing of beauty and if it were not for Mrs. Reginald's invitation, Elizabeth would have dragged them to attend it. The reviews in the paper did not rave enough about it, she decided.

The performance had seemed to ease Catherine enough that she was applauding enthusiastically, no longer attempting to withdraw into the furniture as she had at home. "Oh, such a show, _brava_!"

"Enjoyed it then, Catherine?" Jane asked, amused at her younger sister's jubilance.

"Adored it," responded she, "love stories should always end happily do you not think?"

Jane gave Elizabeth a significant look, and Elizabeth looked back with a roll of her eyes and a smile. When Elizabeth turned to reply to her sister though, she found her looking on sadly at Georgiana as she spoke with Mr. Darcy.

With furrowed brows, Elizabeth asked, "Something the matter?"

Catherine jumped; her face turning red; she shook her head violently, and attempted once more to hide in her surroundings. Her only option was the curtain that separated their private booth, and from behind it, she muttered, "No, not at all."

Another exchange of looks travelled between her older sisters, and Catherine whispered hesitantly, "I shall tell you in the carriage, there are too many ears here…" She glanced at Mrs. Reginald who was full of euphoric praise for the performance, and cast, and even the dressings of the booth they sat in.

Jane nodded in approval, but Elizabeth, ever impatient, only frowned thoughtfully even as they walked together out of the booth, arms looped together.

Darcy and Georgiana followed after distracted by Darcy's own questions about the recent trip his sister had taken, and the slight change in her behaviour that only he seemed to notice.

Finally though, they reached the outside of the theatre, and by the carriages, they bid Mrs. Reginald adieu.

"Oh, oh my loves you must come to supper with me I insist, cook is making the most splendid lamb stew, you must my loves, you must!"

"I am afraid we cannot madam, I know the girls are tired from their journey. They did just return from Bath this morning," Darcy reminded solemnly while his sister smiled sadly in agreement.

"Oh yes, yes, I suppose that is true," Mrs. Reginald assented with a disappointed falter. Easily though, she jumped right back. "Perhaps then tomorrow evening you will join me?"

"We are leaving for Derbyshire the day after, it would not be prudent," Jane answered apologetically.

"Oh how silly of me, of course! I do not think Mr. Darcy has even discussed the dowry for Miss Elizabeth yet and how on earth would you wed then!"

"Yes, how indeed," Mr. Darcy murmured, catching the quick wink of his lady as the carriage arrived and one of the men hopped off to assist the ladies inside.

"Are you taking different carriages?" Mrs. Reginald shrilled. "Oh but surely you can all fit into one! Here, let me join you then!"

"Oh no, I -" Too late already did the lady climb into the carriage Darcy and Georgiana arrived in with an insistence for them to hasten and join her.

.

Within the carriage the Bennet girls had occupied, the inquisition was in full swing; about Catherine and Georgiana's trip to Bath, their encounter with George Wickham, and Georgiana's infatuation with the man.

Elizabeth asked with furrowed brows, "A journalist?"

"Yes, a journalist," Catherine confirmed with a nod.

"Was he…a real one?" Jane asked delicately.

"I think so…"

"Kitty," Elizabeth began in warning.

"I do not know," she defended. "But Georgiana is in love with him, and he is in love with her. He told me himself!"

"When was this?" Elizabeth asked.

"When I lost Georgiana in town this afternoon…"

"Go back sweeting," Jane instructed, "where did you meet this man?"

"In Bath, I told you."

"His name again?"

She took a breath. "George Wickham."

"Wickham?" Elizabeth asked, "Do you think he shares a relation to the Wickham family that lost their fortune last year?"

"Perhaps," Jane answered uncertainly.

Catherine repeated, "Lost their fortune? How?"

"Their father had a gambling problem, his debts and his son's debts were called in. Father and son passed some time after, but the family is destitute now…"

"That is not him."

"Catherine, you cannot be certain," her elder sister said gently.

"I am though, he mentioned in Bath that he had a brother," she insisted, "he died a few months ago…George Wickham is the younger son."

Jane murmured, "Then I suppose his profession is not too terribly strange…"

"But you said he left Bath early, why?" Elizabeth continued.

"I do not know. He said at the time that he was working on a story about Napoleon and a sympathizer that was staying in Bath. He told me this afternoon that the story he was working on had changed…something about his betters ordering it."

"What pays more than correspondence such as that?" Jane wondered aloud.

After a few moments of thought, Elizabeth's nose scrunched. "Rags."

"Rags?" Catherine reiterated with a similar expression.

"Those gossip pieces about the people in society," Elizabeth explained. "People believe what they read you know…"

"How awful, but what does that have to do with Georgiana?" her younger sister asked, warily.

"She is an heiress to a large estate and a more than comfortable fortune; perhaps he is gathering gossip about her…"

"Oh but he would never! He left before we did though…in fact I think that is why Georgiana insisted we return to London early!"

"Then perhaps he said he was in love with her, and strung her along in Bath because of her fortune. He is probably held accountable to pay for his father and brother's debts, no doubt he needs the money," Elizabeth pointed out.

"That is awful!"

"It is life, Catherine," Jane soothed, "we must count ourselves lucky that we are not in such financial troubles…"

Oh how dreadful it all was! Poor Georgiana, almost seduced by a fortune hunter! In the past she had always envied her friend(the attention she received was all a daughter in a brood of five wanted), but now, considering the state Georgiana was in already, and how broken up she would be about Wickham's possible true intention…Catherine felt terrible for ever wishing to be in any kind of position Georgiana was in.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

.

It was a rash decision, Mary knew, but something-anything, had to be done.

For the past two days she had lingered at Pemberley, visiting with Mr. Darcy Senior; accompanying him on his fishing exploits and taking turns about the garden. She was sure she was not the best of companions, and at first she was worried he would send her off, but her neighbour was quite compassionate to her plight of loneliness and insisted she visit whenever she felt like it.

He mused at one point during their conversations that he wondered why no one visited him as much anymore, and then shrugged it off to perhaps him simply being asleep during such calls.

After the second afternoon in his company, she asked a dangerous question. Dangerous for it could lead to her being thrown out for the presumption of it all, and even worse if it got back around to her father, but still it had to be asked.

Mr. Darcy peered at her thoughtfully. "My carriage, you say?"

"Yes sir…I know it is a huge favour to ask of you but…"

"Why not use your own?" he interjected, the heavy scrutiny and scepticism present both in his piercing gaze and commanding voice making her flush nervously as she stared at her shoes.

"It is just that my mother has it in constant use. She does not believe in riding side-saddle and she would certainly never agree to walking anywhere." That much was true. If there was one thing Mary had discovered when she delved into the ledgers of the estate, it was that money seemed to escape from every crack of the house, and her father was doing nothing to curb it.

"Hmm, but such a distance," he murmured to himself, and then aloud, "by yourself? I could never allow it."

But he had with Georgiana, though perhaps it was because Catherine had gone with her. Mary had bid them goodbye when they left for their journey, and a practical squadron of aged and trusted footmen had been there as well…Besides the cost of using the carriage, and the sheer number of men gone to ensure the heiress, and Catherine's protection, there was literally very little Mary could have expected.

Still, it did not stop her from physically deflating.

Mr. Darcy watched her; old and weathered as he was, the gentleman had seen his fair share of desperate attempts and though he was curious about the reason behind it, he knew that Mary Bennet would not give her secrets up so easily.

"Perhaps I can assist you, but I cannot promise you much luxury on your trip."

She was quick to plead, "It will not be required sir, please, anything."

"Well, one of my tenants wants to sell some garments his wife and daughters have made during the past winter. I am proud to say that my other tenants are just as industrious and have no need for theirs as well, and so the gentleman is going to go into town and sell them for his neighbours." He smiled. "I can ask him to bring you into town with him if you are so inclined; I will of course pay for your way by him -"

"No need sir, I have money here."

"Hmm." Determined young lady, are you not Miss Mary? "Of course, well if you insist on paying it, I will not stop you, but I should warn you that he intends to make the journey this very night, and has planned very few stops on the way there, will you be alright to take the trip?"

She nodded, suddenly standing straighter and looking more alive than he had seen her in the past.

How peculiar.

.

Jane and Elizabeth coerced their young charges to their room to talk about the situation, leaving the gentleman accompanying them to glance at his manservant in bewilderment.

With their departure only due the day after next, there was always the possibility of running into Mr. Wickham and it was best that Georgiana knew all that she could lest she fall for the man's charms as she did in Bath.

The lady was utterly destroyed at the news and required consoling more akin to grief than it did to a mere loss of a suitor.

"Oh Georgiana, Georgiana I am so sorry," Catherine cried with her.

"No…No, you are lying Kitty, you have to be…oh," the young lady moaned.

"Dearest, I apologize for hurting you so, but what if -"

"He would not, George is a good man!"

Elizabeth asked gently, "Dear, you have only known him for a few days, how can you know?"

She continued to sniff, and buried her face further into the pillow. In the midst of it all they tried to convince her – both, that they were telling her this because they loved her and also to dissuade the misconception Georgiana was having that the only reason anyone would want her at all was because of her last name.

It was then that the sisters realized that their friend had only put the weight of her worth on a man she barely knew not because she loved him, but because she wanted _someone_ to.

"But I love you, and Jane and Elizabeth love you too," Catherine said, "Are we not enough Georgiana?"

"Oh Kitty you are, you are…but do you not see? Every man and woman that is not you or my family, have always treated me well and paid me attention because of my name. Am I not a lady? Am I not worth being seen as interesting or handsome simply because I am, not because I am a Darcy?" For several moments more, she cried, and the Bennets could only hug her in comfort.

"It is a growing pain sweeting, to realize that to be you and to be liked because you are you, is not always enough. You are your name Georgiana Darcy, you are who you are because of it, but you are not just your name, and not everyone will see that." Elizabeth squeezed her tight. "The people who love you, not just us, are those that try everything to get to know you, to see you beyond your name and everything that comes with it. They want your stories, your laughter; they want your good and your bad and everything that makes you who you are."

"What of my fortune, my connections and title? How do I know they do not just want that?" she asked, her face tearstained and red, and her voice hoarse.

"You will not always know," Elizabeth answered honestly, "all you can do is stand without it – wear the dresses you like, talk to whomever you wish to, read all the books and play all the music, and have an opinion and be not afraid of sharing it. Those who recoil or smile falsely are the ones that reveal themselves for what they are, and from there you decide if you need them to determine your worth."

.

After calming Georgiana down, Elizabeth went in search for her brother to do the same. Georgiana's embarrassment at the scene she had caused in her own home made her too mortified to face her brother and explain herself. It was not as if Jane and Elizabeth could not understand her predicament, and so it was decided that Elizabeth would speak to Darcy instead, perhaps not in too many words, as Georgiana begged.

She found the gentleman in the library, not a shock at all since he had a habit of hiding beneath his books to get away from everything – sometimes even her – except in this case he did not have a book in his hand, just a glass of brandy.

"Do I need this? I feel like I do," he said as she approached.

"It is not so terrible Darcy; you are far too dramatic sometimes."

"I am not fond of my sister's tears, and I have had the fortune of never witnessing it until today." Before he could say anything further (because he looked like he would), he drank.

She sighed, taking the glass from his hand; she placed it on the table and sat in the chair diagonally from him. "This is serious."

"You said it was not."

"I said it was not so terrible," she corrected.

"Elizabeth please, put me out of my misery. Is she alright? May I see her?"

"She is alright, but she would prefer to be alone."

"With your sisters?"

With a careless shrug, she answered, "It is something only sisters can do."

Rubbing his forehead, his frustration evident, Elizabeth insisted it was for the best. "If you ask her what is wrong she will be in tears again, would you really like to be in such a situation?"

"No, no of course not, the last thing I would want to do is upset her further."

"Then let her be…"

It was his turn to sigh and for a while neither of them said anything.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed as it rounded another hour, and Darcy figured it was as good a time as any to guess what it was that ruined Georgiana's night:

"Did Mrs. Reginald say something awful about her?"

"No."

"Did someone else say anything awful about her?"

"No."

"Did she and Catherine get into a disagreement?"

"Something of that nature," Elizabeth allowed.

"Was it about some dress they both wanted, or ribbons?"

Of all the things that could have caused tension between the two girls, something as frivolous as a garment or ribbons would hardly be it. She snickered. "No."

"A boy then."

Her extended silence, occurring in her lapse of judgment of whether or not to tell him about Georgiana's actual distress, made him groan. "Dear lord, is it that time already?"

It was decided then, and she would go with that direction: "Darcy, it has been that time for an age," she answered with a laugh. "Georgiana is seventeen years old."

"I know," he retorted petulantly. "But she is still young."

"Darcy," she began patiently, "you realize that Jane was almost wed at seventeen."

"Your point?"

"I had a suitor at seventeen."

There was a pause.

"You lie."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh honestly Darcy, I had my fair share as well, or do you believe me well and truly on the shelf before you came along?"

"I do not understand," he had the decency to stutter. "You have not mentioned him before –"

"With good reason, believe me." His eyes were still questioning, and she found herself smiling. "Do you remember my first ball?"

"Of course." It was hard not to. Whereas Jane's coming out had been a vague flicker of light in the recesses of his memories, hers had been the sun itself. Then again, he had always seen her that way.

"Well," she began with a flourish, "he was a newly landed gentleman that arrived several months after your departure to Cambridge; he was hoping to woo me that very night of my coming out, and for some reason was of the belief that _we_ had courted for an age or some other sort of ridiculousness during our short acquaintance."

It was Darcy's turn to snort. "If that were true you would think I would know of him before."

"Jealous?"

His smirk was devastating. "Not in the least."

"Jealousy is healthy in a relationship you know," she informed with an arch look. "Regardless, when you returned from Cambridge it hardly mattered."

"Oh?"

"Collins was not the first man I refused, though my mother was convinced he would be the last," she recalled casually, though for all the years they knew each other, Darcy knew the hurt she felt at her mother's assumption. Despite that, she smiled and shook her head. "With Jane at my side, who would ever look my way she said, and I almost believed her…until…"

His silence prompted her and she laughed. "He sent me some verses after my coming out, and they were just…awful…the worst thing I had ever read. Remember, I have read Bingley's poetry, and it was far worse than that!"

Darcy snorted, and she declared, "Poetry is the food of love, is that not what you told me once? I took it to heart then and if it was more than an observation and proved true I suppose his would be closer to poison…He came to the estate two days after, he was in the study talking to my father…Mother looked smug, said that marrying for love was a waste and my father knew it, and that I would marry the gentleman no matter how unromantic and uninspired his sonnets were…"

"Obviously that was not the case," he prompted gently.

"Indeed. In fact my father told me when the gentleman went away that my mother would never speak to me again if I did not marry him, but that my father would not speak to me again if I did. The choice was easy."

"What happened then, afterwards?"

"My mother called my father all sorts of names, and that I was not much better. That was all…I worried though that she was right, that I would never marry because no one would ever want me as she said, but my father was adamant that there would be others, if they had any taste at all," Elizabeth reminisced with a chuckle. "Jane and I would attract fools, but one day, he said, there will be a gentleman among them worthy of us that my father would gladly give us away to."

They were silent for a moment as he digested the story she told before eventually he asked, "Does that mean Georgiana has _not _found her gentleman?"

"No Mr. Darcy," said she with a dramatic sigh, "I daresay she has not. Though it is a wonder that she has had nary a single male caller since she turned fifteen, I sincerely hope you are not responsible for that."

"Not at all, I believe it was Richard's doing sometime during her coming out."

"Oh?" she asked, in disbelief.

"He overhead some rather un-gentlemanly comments by the guests," he revealed in a low voice, "suffice to say that public opinion of them was censorious afterwards."

It was Elizabeth's turn to groan. "I do not know whether to be proud that you defended her honour or upset that you may have possibly scared off all of her possible suitors."

"It was Richard's doing," he answered innocently.

"Mm, you forget I know you better than that."

Their discourse would have continued in that vein had not a footman interrupted them with a bow and a timid reply of, "Miss Mary Bennet to see you, Miss Elizabeth."

"Mary?" the lady repeated, going from confused to shocked in a span of a second.

The footman nodded uncertainly before blinking at the swirl of skirts and the almost frantic demand of the lady, "Where is she?" Already half way through the library, the footman hurried to catch up, chattering senseless reiterations of his discovery of the young lady on the doorstep before Elizabeth ceased listening at all.

Standing in the foyer like a lost child was a young woman: hair as dark as hers, skin as pale as Jane's, frame as tall and strong as Lydia's, eyes the same shade as Catherine's, but wide and confused, nothing like Mary's…

Never once had she ever gone somewhere without invitation or sending some sort of letter ahead of time. She was as responsible and prudent as they came and it was one of the reasons Darcy liked her. To say it was uncharacteristic of her to show up at his home in London of all places, was an understatement and did not bode well for her state, especially considering her recent decision not to accept Mr. Robinson's proposal. He was well aware of how ignored and neglected the middle child of the Bennet family was (as well as how often she was forgotten in the throng of her siblings), and he had no doubt that this time it may have gone too far.

All it took was a glance from the top of the staircase to know that whatever had happened to prompt her arrival, it had broken Mary. Elizabeth, filled with dread, recognized the state all too well.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

.

A meaningful look between Darcy and Elizabeth was all it took for him to call for a maid to prepare a room before she disputed it by waving off, "There is no need." Another look. "She will stay in mine."

Her sister was unresponsive as Elizabeth took her hand and gently tugged her up the stairs.

As they passed the gentleman, Mary did not greet or apologize for the intrusion and instead only stared on. Her gaze saw nothing for they were blank and glassy from tears that she stubbornly refused to let fall. If Darcy thought Georgiana was devastated, there was not a word strong enough for Mary's pain.

Almost carelessly, the back of Elizabeth's hand brushed his own as they passed him and he intertwined their fingers together and squeezed gently.

Her smile was small, gentle and appreciative, but it was distant and he moved his lips in wordless encouragement; her nod of reply was slight.

The night that followed was spent in apprehensive silence.

Mary did not join them for supper and did not come down to join in their entertainment of music and reading aloud. She sat on her sister's bed as Elizabeth hummed comfortingly and brushed back her hair.

Despite being told that Catherine and Georgiana were residing in the house, Mary gave no indication that she desired their company.

"Jane is here," was the quiet mention, and Mary only shook her head.

It was well into the evening before she said anything at all.

In the shadow, and comforting warmth of the blanket and the bed shared with her sister, the quietest Bennet informed her, "Father is going to die…"

Covering her cold hand with her own, Mary turned to look at Elizabeth almost helplessly even as she soothed, "I know it is upsetting sweeting, but all will be well, do not fear…"

"You do not understand Lizzy. He will die."

"I know it is hard to think of him gone, but he has been ill of health for months now…The apothecary is impressed he has even lasted this long you know." When she did not reply, Elizabeth wrapped an arm around her. "It is largely your doing that he has even survived this long. As much as we can all say we took him out for a turn about the garden, played tunes or read aloud to soothe him and speak to him through his rough days it was you that took to his personal care, and though he will probably not say as much, we all owe you a great debt for it."

"Lizzy…"

"I hope you do not blame yourself for his decline…I know you had to bear the brunt of his impatience and foul disposition on difficult days, but it is not your fault in any way."

"Lizzy…Lizzy listen…"

"He will not expire any time soon though, you know he is too stubborn for such a thing," her sister continued, "and he sounded well enough in his letters –"

"Lizzy," came the interjection, harsh and cold like the old Mary, the one that was not yet broken as she clung to a hope that brought with it the opportunity to be betrayed. If Lizzy knew – oh if Lizzy knew and she still refused to marry any of the gentlemen that came for her before Mr. Darcy, if Lizzy knew and she allowed herself and her sisters to believe in such a fickle, foolish notion as a love match – "Are you aware of the entailment?"

"Entailment?"

"The entailment Elizabeth," she repeated, more firmly, more sure, "the entailment that says that once father passes we shall be turned for the streets."

Her sister withdrew, face pale as her own was at the admission of their father only a few days ago.

"Mary…" Though there was no tremble in her voice, no quiver in her lip, there was the look again – confusion – mixed with disbelief.

No. No. Lizzy did not know.

Bitterly, Mary thought now of how their father told no one, not even his favourite, about the possible life he was leaving behind for them. Their mother turned her back on Uncle Gardiner and Lizzy had declined to marry Mr. Collins, the probable heir to their estate…There was no one to offer them kindness when their father passed, and with no plans made for the approaching future...Yet, that was not even the worst of it…

During her journey to London, the worst possible scenarios played out in her mind, and more than once did Mr. Darcy's tenant, and her travelling companion, look to her worriedly. She did not cry, she could not, but the more she kept it locked inside, the more her mind tormented her with horrible possibilities.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she berated herself for her display earlier on.

Mary had promised herself that she needed to be strong, estate or not, rich or poor, she was still a genteel born lady. But seeing Darcy House, being in the lavish home she once used to visit with her sisters for nothing but the asking, she was assaulted with how different everything would be…

Would Georgiana still want to be friends with her and Catherine?

Would Catherine still be able to be friends with Georgiana, knowing that she would forever be in her shadow?

Would Mr. Darcy still want to be associated with their family? Call Elizabeth his friend, and wife?

"What…Mary, what are you talking about?" Elizabeth pushed the covers away, turning to properly look at her. No, Elizabeth decided. There had to be some mistake.

Even in the darkness that surrounded them, easily Mary could pick out the colour of her sister's eyes – the way her lashes outlined the shape, the bright Baltic glow of her gaze. Mary had overhead on several occasions how people so admired Elizabeth's fine eyes. Even Mr. Darcy had admitted it quite openly at her sister's coming out when the opportunity to declare himself was finally presented…

If Darcy had asked then, Elizabeth would be married now…

If Jane had said yes earlier to one of her many suitors then perhaps…

"An entailment," Elizabeth repeated in a mutter. Mary would not make a mistake especially about something as serious as this. "Who told you of this?"

"Father," Mary answered quietly, "after he called me foolish for wanting to marry for love as you and Jane have…"

"Who else knows of this?"

"I do not know, I had not the chance to ask…But mother, she-she does not, at least she did not…"

"Your arrival here, to town; who knows of it?"

Her head bowed, and her fist above the blankets clenched until her knuckles turned white. "Both of them…Mother, Father….She asked me where I thought I was going and I –"

The journey from Derbyshire seemed unreasonably soothing to her; leaving home the only reprieve she had besides the distance she managed by escaping to Permberley…Watching Longbourn shrink in the distance brought her a sense of freedom, and with it a sense of dread most likely because she was all too aware of the destruction she had left in her wake, and the uncertain future wavering in the horizon for her.

"Mary," Elizabeth trailed in a harsh whisper, "what have you done?"

"I told them, both of them the truth: that our father has lulled us all this time into a sense of security that does not exist, that our mother did not fulfil her duty as the wife of a gentleman by not baring a son; that they both have doomed our futures by foolishly wasting the past."

"Mary –"

"They told me to leave," she finished, her strength suddenly gone as she felt her eyes burn. "Mother called me a liar, father called me ungrateful, and that I should never return. Not that any of us can once he passes and we have nothing but the debts mother will procure for us."

"Why?" Elizabeth demanded, far louder and harsher than she had intended, the direction of her question torn between the motivations of her sister to speak in such a way, and in the response Mary received from their parents as a result.

It would not have happened without the other, she reminded herself, and yet this whole thing would not have even been a concern had their father not –

Though Elizabeth's anger was not directed at her sister, the younger Bennet was reminded all too acutely of Mr. Bennet's face that looked like storm and Mrs. Bennet voice that shrilled and crackled like lightning and the thunderous betrayal of her franticly beating heart as they charged her with everything they were guilty of. In the back of her mind, Mary wondered if perhaps they saw her as useless until that day when they could thrust their sins onto her because truly, she was good for nothing else. The flood gates opened as Elizabeth continued to stare at her, brows knitted and a displeased frown gracing her features seemed confirmation enough that Mary deserved everything coming to her:

"I am sorry; I am so sorry Lizzy…If I had not refused Mr. Robinson, if I had not gone to father with the presumption that he would think me like you in refusing the man, if I had not come here to London seeking you perhaps-perhaps-"

To be lied to, and then be called a liar; to do everything you can to be accepted only to be reminded again and again that you were nothing but a disappointment; and to be humiliated and cast aside by the only people that were never supposed to do such a thing. Mary, poor Mary…

"Dearest no, I did not mean – Oh, I am so sorry Mary, I am just…overwhelmed, I did not mean to raise my voice." Quickly, Elizabeth's arms stole over her sister.

Mary did not realize she was crying until she was hiccupping and there was a tremor of a headache creeping into her skull. "Lizzy…Lizzy, what will happen now?"

She did not know.

Jane and Mary were rational beings while she, Catherine and Lydia had always been the emotional ones. If Mary was the one being emotional, was she expected to be rational? Elizabeth did not think she could.

Despite comforting her sister, the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy, of the life she knew suddenly coming to an end by her father's deception of hiding the entailment…all it caused was a mental blank and a rush of emotions akin to panic and dread for an uncertain future. She could not think of a single thing.

Mary's crying did not help, and when Jane and Catherine found out it was likely the tears would start anew…

Vaguely, Elizabeth wished that Jane had been the one to be called when Mary arrived; wished that everyone was below floors at the pianoforte or in the library together so that when Mary revealed the reason for her escape to London, they would all –

What? Cry together?

And then what?

Darcy would –

Darcy…

Darcy would leave.

.

The breakfast table was suspiciously quiet.

Mary was seated, looking down and not talking nor eating.

Catherine and Georgiana, despite not knowing what had occurred last night or why Mary was unceremoniously at the table when last evening she had not been willing to dine with them, respected the solemnity around them even as Jane pointed out this event and that event in the paper.

Elizabeth was simply not there.

He cleared his throat.

"Good morning Mr. Darcy," came an eerie chorus, and though he did not quite smile, he tried to suppress the unease he felt.

"I feel like the headmaster at Cambridge."

His sister offered a slight smile at his attempt to lighten the mood, and as he passed her, he squeezed her shoulder in comfort. They had not spoken since last night's debacle, and he found that Elizabeth's advice to let her come to him was far better than asking an innocent question that could set her off.

Speaking of: "Where is Elizabeth?"

"Outside," Mary answered, voice quiet, but the fact that she had spoken at all surprised the rest of their party. "She has been out there since I woke this morning…"

It was not unfounded that she would. Elizabeth's love of traipsing had long been known to him, their close friendship was practically founded on the adventures they went on while taking a turn about the forest that bordered their lands as well as the expanse their joint estates covered.

Still, something troubled him about the admission, and though he did not say as much, Mary could tell that he knew something was amiss.

She wished she could have said that it was the way he ate and drank – less rather than more, fast rather than slow or the way he spoke for he said nothing more than he usually would. Mary wished there was something about his actions that would confirm the feeling she had, but even as he bid everyone a good day and left them, she had nothing more than an unsettling feeling as she watched him disappear out the door from the corner of her eye.

.

Darcy had not even opened his mouth yet as he came upon her before she asked, "Did you know?"

His brow rose. "Of?"

For several moments Elizabeth silently searched his face, a mistrustful look in her eyes and such an upsetting downward curve of her mouth that he felt hurt by the silent accusation. Eventually, whatever she was looking for could not be found, and she closed her eyes as if to block out some pain. Finally, she admitted, "I am an awful person."

"Not more so than usual," he soothed lightly, but she only continued to shake her head. It was not the time for teasing, and wisely, he observed instead, "Mary is downstairs; she occupies the table but does not eat." There was no reply, and he prodded quietly, "Has something happened?"

Elizabeth, for a moment shook her head no, but her lips moved and her voice came, "Mary is..." There was not a word to describe what her sister had gone through, and what inevitably lay ahead for the rest of her family. Being led to think that one's life was secure, that they could live in constant leisure when in fact their very livelihood was dependent on a single person, was terrifying.

If their father died before Jane or she would marry, her family would be as poor as paupers. They would have some money left for a few months if they were lucky, but without provisions Elizabeth was sure her father did not make, her sisters and mother would not last.

"Mary is not alright."

His eyes silently entreated her, and Elizabeth gathered a deep breath for strength.

"My father is dying."

"His state has…worsened?" He delicately inquired, taking less than a stride to be right before her, touching her arms as if she would collapse before him.

Everyone knew how close she was to her father. _Was_. The thought left her numb, the heat of her anger cooled after a fitful night and restless wandering about the garden. Again, she forced her eyes to close.

"Elizabeth."

Abruptly, she was aware of how close they were out here in plain sight of maids and gardeners. Any passerby could see them. She stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself. "You should not…"

His confusion was evident, and she muttered, "You would not want to be seen with me after what I have to tell you."

Even though he was the best chance at a stable livelihood for her family after her father passed, she had decided over the course of the night that he deserved to know, and so she tugged on the string and unravelled her world:

"When my father dies, I will have nothing. The estate is entailed away; my sisters and mother get nothing; _I _will be nothing. At least, that will be the case if Jane or I do not wed before he expires. I did not want to tell you at first…Mary, Kitty and my mother would be at the mercy of others' kindness until we are all wed, and even then my mother…" A bitter chuckle escaped her. "She would use our pin money for horses, carriages, gowns, hats, all manner of useless things, whose economy would it strain? I should not even be telling you because marrying you would be what my family needs – a titled, rich gentleman to take care of us all."

Her sigh trembled against her lips. "In truth, I debated not telling you, not because I want to take advantage of you or your station, but because I did not think it would matter whether or not I was poor because you were my friend and you would not care. But I cannot expect you to bear the weight and responsibility of caring for my family when you have your family to think of too. I will not hate you if you break the engagement; I want you to know that I do understand."

It was quiet for several moments, and with the roaring in her ears, she almost missed his reply.

"You rise to every challenge that intimidates you," Darcy murmured quietly, "why would you think that I would not do the same?"

"Darcy –"

"If you think this shall scare me away, it will not." Despite her earlier retreat, he reached for her again, gloved fingers ghosting over her cheeks to wipe away at the tear that had been prickling at her eyes.

A traitorous voice within her rejoiced in the intimacy of his touch. He did not know about the entailment so he was not simply engaged to her in a bid to save her from it. This could not simply be his father's and hers wish alone that they be wed, this cannot simply be duty and honour. He will not leave you for this.

She quelled that voice.

Expectation led to nothing but disappointment and she was still reeling from her first real encounter with it, "As much as I need to think of my family's future after my father, you are my family as well and I cannot burden you so."

He raised her chin slightly with his fingers, just enough so that when he lowered his head their foreheads touched.

"I will marry you, impertinent and headstrong as you are; rich lady or church mouse. You cannot be rid of me that easily."


	10. Chapter 10

**Part One of this story (chapter 1-9) is available for free as a download on my blog (call (no space) me (no space) .com under the menu as "Variations of Pride and Prejudice").**

**Special thanks to my wonderful alpha and beta readers: Ruth and Lizette. As I still like to add on and edit well after they're done their part, any mistakes found are mine. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Susi (Ansujali) for being absolutely amazing throughout my hiatus and giving just the best warm-fuzzy-feeling reviews ever on stories that aren't even in fandoms she knows just because I wrote them. People like you make me glad that I started posting my work online in the first place; I wish you the happiest of birthdays!**

.

Chapter ten

.

From the second floor window of Darcy House's music room, Catherine and Georgiana leaned their arms against the window sill, and sighed – their exhales condensing the cool glass, temporarily obscuring their view from the sight below.

Elizabeth's romance with Mr. Darcy, Catherine felt, was like a fairytale.

Whereas other ladies her age had novels to look to for inspiration and flights of fancy, she had a romance that was just beginning to bloom like a rose at the turn of the season right before her eyes, but she could not imagine that Georgiana would appreciate it. Considering their adventure in Bath had ended poorly here in London only a day ago, Catherine fretted that any number of things could set her friend off especially since just this morning she had been so quiet…"I feel most awful about this."

Georgiana turned to her friend, confused. "What makes you say so Kitty?"

It was a lovely sight! Intimate of course, scandalous perhaps, but she had never seen anything as wonderful as her brother in love. The heiress had seen the interactions between Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth often enough during meal times, when they read together or listened to her play, but in a state such as this? What they had before was closeness, an understanding of friendship, but this was something wholly different. Even with the distance between her and the couple in the garden, she could feel Fitzwilliam's tender smile and it brought on her own.

"It is just," Catherine began, "Mr. Wickham…"

"I am still hurt that I was so easily manipulated, yes, but that does not mean I cannot share in my brother's joy." Georgiana's smile grew wider as she turned back to the couple. "It makes me happy to see him happy!"

"Still, perhaps we should not be watching them." Despite her somber tone, a matching smile graced Catherine's lips.

"Do you think," Georgiana asked with a giggle, "they shall get married soon?"

"I hope so; they are too wonderfully matched to be apart for much longer! I am sure, if I were Lizzy, I would be counting the hours when I would finally be Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy!"

"We shall be proper sisters then," she added. "Lizzy will look beautiful in my mother's pearls when they are to wed, perhaps she shall even wear my mother's wedding clothes! They still talk about how handsome she looked."

"Perhaps she will, but your mama was much smaller than Lizzy, perhaps she should wear something similar to what my mother wore to her wedding, perhaps mama will let Lizzy wear it?"

"Oh, but it is quite gaudy," Georgiana muttered under her breath.

Unperturbed, Catherine said, "Oh certainly, but Lizzy would alter it, much as she would prefer the length and general design of the clothes, I highly doubt she would like such attention to her décolleté!"

"I wonder if they would allow us to help them in their wedding preparations…"

"If we ask nicely perchance they will!"

Across from them, Mary's gentle tones on the upper scale of the pianoforte had gradually moved to the lower scale producing deeper grave tunes and despite the cheerful enthusiasm of her younger sister and friend, the room was heavy with melancholy.

.

"Are you quite certain you want to do this, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked lightly for what felt like the third time, and though exasperated with his repeated declarations, the gentleman did not show it. Much as he would usually match tones with the lady, he knew that this time it would not be prudent.

He ran his thumb over her whitened knuckles. "What will it take to convince you otherwise?"

With her fidgeting hands occupied in his, Elizabeth took to worrying her lip – plump and blood red from the nervous stimulation. "I do not know."

"Would I be expected to repeat the sentiment that yes, I want to marry you; no, it is not an inconvenience to me and no, I do not want to marry anyone else, until the time we are actually wed?"

"I do not know," she repeated, lighter still though much more sincerely as she ceased the maddening activity of distracting him with her lips to both his relief and disappointment. "Perhaps I shall continue even after?"

"You vex me."

"But are you quite certain?" A look of annoyance crossed his features, and she was quick to remind him, "You are Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire, master of Darcy House and the grand estate of Pemberley with connections to the peerage and an income of ten thousand a year; what on earth would you even want with a penniless high born chit such as myself?"

''The joy of your company? Your sparkling wit? Your handsome countenance?"

"Darcy," she began in warning.

With a dramatic sigh, he repeated, "Yes, I am sure, though perhaps if you insist on making this question a habit I shall find a more creative way of answering it?"

"Perhaps I shall take you up on the challenge, Mr. Darcy?"

"I daresay it would be interesting, though I am unsure if you will appreciate the attempts," he warned with a roguish twinkle in his eyes causing an eye roll of amusement from his beloved.

"Must you insinuate such impropriety sir; surely you do not wish to suggest such behavior in suitors for your sister as tolerable? She does look up to you after all," she pointed out, feigning disappointment and a level of strict authority enough that no one would dare question her as Mistress of Pemberley.

"You forget, you had your hand in raising her as well as I did. I daresay she idolizes you just as much as you say she idolizes me."

"Yet you expect me to allow such behavior?" asked she with an arch look.

"Why not? I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, with this uncle and that uncle and an annum of such and such."

Elizabeth's lips pursed to suppress the smile threatening to split her face. "You are infuriating."

"Yet you love me ardently."

She rolled her eyes, laughing outright. "I cannot imagine why."

"Perhaps it is because I love _you_ so ardently?"

"Perhaps," she allowed with a disbelieving smile, mirth bright in her eyes. "The question is though, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire, will you still feel the same when this is over?"

.

It was only now rounding ten in the morning, and Jane's day thus far had been a series of failures.

Her direct and short missive to her mother about Mary's dismissal from their home had been reported to be rerouted, Georgiana and Catherine still seemed somewhat ill at ease with one another – though she was grateful for Mary's observation earlier claiming otherwise – and now, well now there was _this_.

Jane was always praised for being a sensible young lady, young being perhaps an operative term. Practically on the shelf at three and twenty despite never lacking in suitors nor wanting of any virtues required in a lady, "sensible" did not seem like the correct word to associate with her at all.

Considering the information her sisters Mary and Elizabeth imparted to her just moments before, Jane considered herself particularly stupid in all things.

An entailment no one had known of? It could not be borne!

How-how could this have happened, how could no one have known until now?

Gently she was ushered back into her seat. "Please Jane, sit," Mary insisted, and the eldest Bennet noted belatedly that she had shot out of her chair and was now standing.

"Are you well, shall I get you a glass of wine? You look pale," Elizabeth murmured at her other side as they both assisted her as if she was on the verge of collapsing entirely.

"I…I don't understand, how long has there been an entailment?" asked she in a daze, completely ignoring the concern her sisters showed though unresponsive to much else.

"Since always…father simply neglected to tell anyone," Mary answered, her bitterness overtaken by a wretched helplessness.

"How…" _how could he not tell anyone? How could no one have known? How could he do this to them? _"How?"

"Oh Jane, sweet Jane, drink – I insist." Elizabeth pushed the glass of red liquid into her shaking hand and slowly she brought it to her lips, barely tasting the sweet notes that hit her tongue and the smoky richness that caressed the back of her throat before it landed in her stomach with the heaviness of a stone.

She drank until the cup was empty, almost desperate to feel something other than despair. When no emotion besides hysteria and anger came, she blurted, "When did you find out about this?"

Mary retold the tale – the proposal she refused, the careless annoyance of her father, the anger of her mother, the failed attempt to find the security their father _should have_ arranged for them and her decision to leave the estate altogether endorsed by the banishment of their father. By the end her voice grew more distant, more vacant.

Her poor sister had been stripped bare of almost all that she knew: that parents were supposed to protect, made to care for them and their futures, encourage them and be honest with them; that family was everything and that being daughters of landed gentry was supposed to be enough to sustain them - all was for nothing when there was to be no fortunes or estate attached to them.

Jane, sensible or not, knew that kindness, beauty, accomplishment and manners was not enough in their world.

A fortune, connections, land; it was the only way they would ever make good matches, without those what had they to recommend them but something as unquantifiable as perhaps mutually shared feelings?

For her part, the only reason Mrs. Bingley had not completely shunned her was because she was a genteel born lady with a sizable dowry, but now? Every other woman in London was landed, and most if not all had impressive enough dowries compared to her own.

It would be no loss for Mrs. Bingley to weather a broken engagement between her son and Jane, more gain than anything else, and the eldest Miss Bennet felt sick at the thought of the poison her intended's mother would whisper in his ear when the time came that this-this scandal became common knowledge –

"Jane, please do not cry," Elizabeth begged while Mary had dropped herself in the chair beside her, a subtle tremble at her fingertips as she traced her lips as if tasting those horrible words she had spoken.

Taking a breath that shook far more then she cared to admit, Jane brushed her hand across her damp cheek and sniffed. "I….I do not know what to say." Her mind raced and thoughts jumbled, but nothing of import came to mind, and she hated herself for that. "What happens to us; to our family?"

Elizabeth parted her lips to reply before a crisp knock on the door interrupted her. Whatever she was going to say was replaced, and with a steadiness she could barely claim to have, she called out, "Enter."

Mr. Darcy's black curls came into view, his eyes meeting Jane's with compassion. Quietly, he came in, exchanging a few words with a maid before closing the door behind him.

Unnecessarily, Jane asked, "You know, do you not sir?"

"Yes," he murmured, dropping a knee before her to squeeze her tightly clasped hands. "Elizabeth told me this morning, I am terribly sorry…"

She sniffed, and he let her hands go, reaching inside his pocket to offer her a handkerchief.

For a moment it was quiet as Jane blew her nose noisily, uncaring for the unladylike act as the tears rolled unrestrained down her cheeks.

Then he proceeded to the pitcher, and handing Mary a glass of wine to soothe her as well, Mr. Darcy stood before them."I will do all that I can to assist you, you know this."

Jane took a breath, twisting the handkerchief between her long fingers. "Why…?"

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy exchanged a look and slowly, he answered, "When I marry Elizabeth -"

"You are…you are still going to marry her?" There was hopefulness in her tone mixed with a grief that burned. "Knowing what you know about our family – its carelessness for its kin and instability? You would shoulder not just Lizzy, but us, all of us?" There was carefulness in her words, calculated not to cut but woven with nothing but the harsh truth of their situation.

Elizabeth flinched, and she looked away. Of course she had known all of this.

It had kept her up all night ever since Mary had uttered those awful words. Besides the loss of their lifestyle in leisure, Elizabeth was not particularly bothered by the toll it would take on her reputation in Town or society in general, but to be the woman that burdened her best friend and closest confidant by marrying him?

"Lizzy, Mr. Darcy," Jane continued with a harsh whisper, all too aware of the storm that was likely raging in her sister's heart and mind, "I am sorry, so sorry…but I…I cannot risk us holding onto the hope of your upcoming marriage, I cannot allow it when it is so precarious. It is easy to say now, Mr. Darcy, that you will care for us and help us, but when the _Ton _finds out – when the papers, your neighbors, your business partners…And when our father passes, and the burden becomes real, tell me, what then?"

What then indeed.

Society matrons and their simpering daughters would be far less a burden to him compared to sustaining Mrs. Bennet and her inconsiderate habits; not only would she surely do her best to bankrupt the man, but she would certainly embarrass the Darcy name!

To Elizabeth, Jane said, "We need to make arrangements of our own, and soon. Father's health is already so poor who knows what further stress he has endured with Mary's discovery and departure. We cannot wait idly for someone else to save us Lizzy, Mary, we need to do something!"

"Jane, I empathize with your distress, but please have more faith in my character," Mr. Darcy said, "I would never let anything befall you, any of you, as long as it is in my power to help, I am sure Bingley would say as much as well –"

"It does not matter what he will say," Jane interjected with anguish, "he will leave Mr. Darcy, he will go because his mother has never approved of me, and never will after this. I will be another weight for someone else to carry, and hoping for him – wishing for him to save me from this state will only lead to further disappointment and yet another heartbreak to bear when he leaves."

"He will not, you know he will not," Elizabeth said almost urgently. That was getting too close to the only tragedy she could not protect her sister from experiencing, too close to a wound that had not quite healed even in the six years since it happened. "Jane -"

"He will leave, he will. He will leave like Simon did," she said woodenly, adding in a whisper, "Perhaps this is why he did so in the first place."

Mr. Darcy watched the sisters' expressions morph accordingly following the declaration: Mary's had frozen in loosely veiled fear, Jane's had gone blank and paler than her hair while his Elizabeth's eyes lowered in a defeated sort of shame, a sight he loathed more than anything.

Ignoring the presence of her sisters, he drew Elizabeth slightly away and lifted her chin. "Let me help you," he murmured, "tell me how to be useful to you." _Tell me how to make you smile again. Tell me what I have to do to make you believe me._

"No one must know for as long as possible," Jane murmured more to herself than anyone else, still in a trance of sorts, "especially not Catherine."

Mary whispered almost in horror, "Catherine would be devastated…"

He raised his head to them and nodded curtly. "Indeed." She was too much like Georgiana to him, any distress from her side would be similar and though it would not cut as deeply as Georgiana's, it was a suffering he did not wish to endure for her sake. Gentle and kind hearted as Jane, Catherine did not yet have the maturity for such a humiliation. "Is there anything else?"

"Uncle Gardiner," Elizabeth answered resolutely, finally meeting his eyes with defiance, "he is a trader in Cheapside."

He met her gaze, though a single brow had risen to meet the challenge. "Excellent, shall I send for him to join us?"

**A/n: **Unfortunately I haven't written further than this, and with college starting again tomorrow I can't make a promise of when the next update will be. However, I have outlined the contents of Part Two, and only need to flesh it out and send it to my beta readers.

Your patience would be appreciated as would your feedback on this chapter, thank you for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

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Chapter eleven

.

Though not given to dramatics as much as her sisters, Jane carried with her a distinct feeling that the walls were closing in and the very air that she breathed was pressing into her lungs.

She needed open spaces and clear, wide skies; away from London and its shadows; she wanted to be home in Derbyshire in her favorite rose garden just below the library she adored so much and a window away from the music room that brought her such innocent pleasure. She longed rather desperately for the comfort of her noisy family – her sisters, mother and father – present at the breakfast table, squabbling and laughing between the passing of this scone or that pitcher; a tableau so familiar in her childhood, so foreign now…It felt so chaotic at the time, and yet she could not help but wonder if that too was manufactured just as their security was.

In all honesty, Jane had had her suspicions about the entail. Very few estates were kept within the female line after all. But surely her father had known of it, surely he would have done something – _anything _to change the line of succession?

Alas, Mary had confirmed over and over again that if their father had done so the paperwork was not to be found.

But then, she fretted with furrowed brow. Why had he not at least told them? Why had he continued to indulge in a such a grievous assumption?

A pounding at her temples stilled her, and her brisk pace slowed to a halt as she cradled her head. This was a terrible puzzle to solve, if there was anything to be solved at all. Why, considering her father's temperament, Jane would not have been surprised at all to find that he had he kept it to himself because it suited him.

Foolish man! She thought in misery, shutting her eyes tight to seal her tears. How could he do this to them?

"Jane, Jane!"

Head still bowed, the lady did not look up. "What is it Kitty?"

The hurried steps tapered into a cautionary stall, and she could practically see the hesitance in her younger sister's expression. She never called Catherine by the childish nickname unless she was upset with her, as was everyone's habit now bar Georgiana. It was a sign as clear as day that something was amiss.

Inhaling a fortifying breath through the nose, Jane reminded herself that her youngest sister was not to know. They had agreed it would be prudent until something could be done, Catherine was an emotionally fragile girl, and Jane could hardly keep herself in check as it was.

"Yes Catherine?"

"Are you well...?" she asked tentatively, and swallowing another gulp of air, Jane raised her head and managed a smile.

"Yes, yes, just a headache. What is it?"

Though the uncertainty swam in her gaze, Catherine answered, "Mr. Bingley saw me sitting on the bench, and wished to know if you and I would like to accompany him on a turnabout the park?"

"Had I not said that I wished to be alone, Catherine?"

Again the hesitance, and she looked down with a slight mutter. "He was concerned that I was outside without a chaperone…He was only teasing I know, but he said I shan't be meeting any young men under his watch!" They had all jested at some point or another about the importance of one's reputation particularly because of Mr. Darcy's near constant compromising. It would be best if Catherine were out of the public eye for some weeks; hers was perhaps the only reputation that was untarnished. Yes, that would have to do for now.

"Jane?"

She murmured something Catherine did not hear.

"Shall we return to him?"

Face heating up and paling white at the same time, she nodded distractedly.

"Yes, yes of course."

Jane squared her shoulders as Catherine looped her arms about hers and they trekked back.

.

"Mr. Gardiner?" Darcy repeated with no less belief than before.

"Yes."

Her calm expression made him want to pull his hair out.

"Elizabeth, are you certain?"

"I am."

"Have you not come to London for the sole purpose of speaking with the man?"

"I had," she answered, looking abashed for a moment. "You were particularly diverting when I arrived if you recall, I had not the time to meet with him and even then the matter was not particularly urgent…"

Almost impatiently, he prompted, "Until?" When she did not reply again, lost in thought; her name fell from his lips once more; almost a whine, almost a reprimand. "You have still not told me why."

"Why what?"

"Why you decided after so many years of no contact with the man that you suddenly had some business with him. Has not your mother severed all ties with him?"

"She has."

"And did you not ask her to stay with the Gardiners before your arrival to Town purely to annoy her?"

"Well not purely…"

"Elizabeth, tell me what is happening!" He demanded in exasperation, "Do I not already know the worst of it?"

Her smile was sardonic. "If I said no?"

"I would hardly be surprised." Though he fingered the rim of his glass, he did not reach for it to drink and instead choose to watch her.

They were but children when her beloved uncle had been shunned by her mother.

It was for the good of her daughters, Mrs. Bennet had said with her nose in the air, they could not be recognized by their connections to trade, it simply would not do for her high status or for her daughters' future prospects to have such a smudge on their otherwise exceptional breeding, and her own advantageous match.

Even at that age, Jane had taken to comforting an already hysterical Lizzy while he had watched on in sullen silence, unsure of what to do.

There was hardly a protocol dictating how to behave in such a situation after all – having a man literally thrown out whilst having supper was not exactly a common occurrence.

Darcy's personal relationship with Mr. Gardiner had been limited to his shared interaction with Elizabeth at that age, as well as his father's contact with the man with whom he had done business, though at that time he had looked awkward at being witness to the debacle.

Mr. Bennet did not seem particularly amused by the ordeal either, and even as young as he was at the time, Darcy expected the older gentleman to revel in it, but no one was happy that night.

Elizabeth, though close in heart to the man despite her young age, was not allowed to correspond with her Uncle Gardiner and did not for many years. Save for her uncle's engagement and subsequent wedding around the same year as her coming out, any news of her family beyond her immediate one was nonexistent.

It surprised him then that almost a fortnight ago Elizabeth had requested assistance in that regard. Under the circumstances she could not very well expect her uncle to house her while they dealt with whatever business they had, but that was where Darcy came in, though he knew precious little besides.

"Would your mother have my head, do you think, if she found out the real reason you have been in London for so long?"

"To get a husband? As far as she is concerned I have achieved that goal."

He raised a brow. "Indeed."

"Though my visit has never been about that," she reminded with a roll of her eyes. "Considering the eligible ladies of the _Ton _who have been grappling with one another for your attention for years, my success at capturing you would be asking for the impossible. How, mother demanded, would I, of all people, catch your attention? She had not expected me to be successful though surely she hoped for it."

"She discounted the possibility of affection being the reason then?"

At her emphatic "_Pleeeeese_," he chuckled. "That I would act on such affection or that I had any at all towards you?"

Elizabeth gave him an arch look and he sighed dramatically. "Then the reason must be because you stay under my roof of course, under my protection these past two weeks."

"And who protects me from you?"

He snorted. "If anyone is in danger Elizabeth, it is most certainly not you. Though I worry for whatever it is you have planned regarding your uncle."

"Nothing planned per say," murmured she, "I just have questions – speculations – that require his input."

"A new concern?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Old…something aroused my curiosity in previous months' nay years since its occurrence, and I needed it sated for that alone at the time. Now, however, I feel that it is prudent that I tackle it head on for more than just that. My sisters' livelihood and my own could very well depend on it."

It only took a second for him to connect the dots she had, all the little clues months and years in the making before her arrival to London.

"The entail."

With a smile more fitting to be called a grimace, Elizabeth murmured, "Mr. Gardiner is expecting us."

.

"Jane, are you well?"

It was the third time he asked in the last twenty minutes alone. Perhaps she was not as good at keeping her emotions to herself as she had thought, Jane sighed. _I have to tell him. _

"No sir, I am not."

With her hand rested intimately placed in the crook of his arm, he reached over with his other hand to squeeze her fingers. "If this is about my mother again -"

_Oh dear man, if only that problem remained the same for I fear after this it shall be worse!_

"There is something else…" She paused and looked discreetly over her shoulder. A few feet behind them, quite amused it seemed to people watch as Lizzy was oft to do, Catherine hummed a tune from the play they attended just the night before. Politely uncaring of the exchanges of the couple before her.

At least, Jane comforted herself, there was that small mercy.

In turn she squeezed his fingers back, and began in quiet breath.

Her harsh whisper drew him near to hear her, and she relished rather greedily their closeness. Perhaps it would be the last they would ever be so again, she thought with some bitterness, some heart ache.

To his credit, Mr. Bingley did not recoil once, and it was she who was shocked when all he said at her conclusion was, "I know."

.

The taste of iron was pungent on his tongue. His face felt tender and everything hurt and throbbed and felt numb all at once. Wickham was here and not, of that was his only certainty.

He had not even the faintest clue as to where he was.

Perhaps still outside the building of the newspaper where the debtors had come to collect their due. Of course his relatives made their towering debts with the most unyielding of men; no reason, no finesse, not a very good business sense either if he was too dead to pay back what his dead brother and father owed.

His face was probably ruined forever as a result, Wickham internally lamented, but at least he still had his humor.

Feeling a thick liquid pool at the back of his throat, he spat and then groaned as his throat tightened and rubbed raw against itself.

"Wickham, there you are! You look a fright!"

"Piss off," he managed.

"What did they do to you?"

The man snorted, wiping some of the blood off his face. "What do you think Denny? And think very hard before you answer."

Grunting, he came around at his side and threw an arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet. "Let's get you out of here eh, your ma isn't going to be happy about this."

"She never is," he retorted as they limped down the alleyway.

Despite the strange looks they received on their way home, the two managed in one piece. Perhaps three or four, all things considered.

Denny snickered. "I think getting beaten makes you funny."

"I'm always funny, you're just too stupid to appreciate it," he slurred.

"I'll let that one go just 'cause you're dying."

"How kind."

Kicking at the door, Denny hollered, "I got him home ma'am!"

The door creaked then and his mother's voice came with a mixture of shock and disgust, "Good lord!"

For what felt like days, Wickham stared at the floor as his mother bustled about him with bandages in their small room in some brothel owner's back building, the only place they could afford. He vaguely heard her tutting and bemoaning, cooing and crying, and simply stressing herself out more than usual.

"Mama please do not cry…"

"How can you ask me to do that?" She sobbed, "My poor boy! Look what they did to you!"

He sighed. Wickham could not even promise it would not happen again because it would, and soon if he did not come along with the payment by tomorrow. Worse yet if they planned to carry out their threats against his mother…

A knock on the door dampened his spirits further, and sank to a new low as one of their neighbors came in. Pretty and young at fifteen, Miss Sherwood was small in size and presence making her occupation as a servant in some rich gentleman's household quite suitable. If not for her habit of hovering, a result of an infatuation with him, his mother had whispered, she would be quite an agreeable neighbor to have.

A gift, some glass ornament or something of the sort, shattered to the ground as her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh Mr. Wickham, what on earth happened?"

"Lucy, dear, not now," his mother said, gently ushering her out.

"Did they do that to you?" she insisted, eyes wild.

Nearly everyone had some kind of debt to be paid and it certainly was not a new thing to have people walking in bloody in the hallway. In fact, his case was hardly special – several of his neighbors were rich themselves once upon a time – but a quick hand on a card and a quicker hand on the pocket was hardly conductive to a happy economy.

"It is nothing to worry yourself over Miss Sherwood, if you please, I would like to be alone to recover while I can," he said with a grimace.

"I can help!"

"Lucy," she reprimanded once more.

"No, no Missus, I can!" The girl declared coming quickly to his side least his mother be successful in shoving her out the door. "The family I'm working for, the Darcys, they have guests!"

"Yes," he sighed, "the Bennets, I know." Hardly a surprise, the two families had always been close. When Miss Elizabeth Bennet had arrived a fortnight ago attending on Mr. Darcy's arm at various balls and other such gatherings, there were whispers of their engagement. If his constant compromising had not occurred at almost every occasion, perhaps their long touted love affair would have been in the paper instead.

"Well do you know then, about the Bennets?"

Remaining unimpressed, his mother made a sound of warning.

Before he could mirror his agitation, Miss Sherwood practically burst with her decree, "Mr. Wickham, the Bennets are penniless!"

**A/n: I know its been more than a month *sweats nervously* but surprise! Special thanks to Ruth for helping me get this chapter out so fast given I sent it to her only yesterday, as usual any mistakes found are mine. **


	12. Chapter 12

.

Chapter twelve

.

Fast the next morning was broken with a sense of giddiness as Catherine and Georgiana spoke excitedly of their return home to Derbyshire. With some petulance, they questioned why they could not leave at that very instant instead of this afternoon as they retrieved their meals from the sideboard.

"Surely it would be more prudent brother," Georgiana said as she took her seat at the table, "is not travel safer in the day, would not our journey be cut short when night falls?"

"Certainly," answered he, "but Elizabeth, Jane and Mary have business in town after we breakfast and as we cannot be delayed in reaching Derbyshire, we had to compromise an early start. Fear not, there will be no need to rest the horses as another carriage at all our stops, we will ride through the night and be home come Friday."

Delighted at the prospect of such a speedy journey, Catherine mused, "It will be lovely to see the county in the fading light, do you think we may stop to admire the views?"

"Oh dear, were you not just going on about how you wished to be home sooner rather than later?" Darcy asked in faux bewilderment. "My word, I have forgotten how contradictory living with young ladies can be. If we travelled post haste we would miss the sights, yet if we do not, your father may very well deny my request to marry your sister. What then Catherine?"

She pouted. "But sir, surely you cannot see a spectacular view and not wish to linger to admire it? What if there were a picturesque landscape or a handsome house cast in the midst of a sunset?" With a bit of a sniff, she turned to her plate, adding, "Besides, even if my father refused, you and I both know Lizzy would marry you regardless."

"I would do no such thing," said she as she entered the room, pressing a greeting kiss upon her sister's head and swiping a sliced apple from Darcy's plate as she did so. "I am a proper young lady Miss Bennet!"

"Yet you so happily steal in front of me in my own house," he dryly remarked.

Georgiana laughed. "It is how she shows affection; do you not know? I believe she said something along the lines of it being the only proper way what with so many people of your acquaintance present."

With a scandalized gasp, Elizabeth chastised, "Sweeting, had we not agreed that that was said in confidence?"

"But I do so rarely get to tease him!"

"What of his pride," she asked as she turned to pick at the contents of the sideboard. "Is that not something of which to tease him?"

"Can one mock pride?"

"But of course! Have I taught you nothing? Have you not observed your brother's behaviour at social gatherings?" demanded she, "Why with that sour expression so constant on his face it is a wonder no one has taken offense and thought he found something distasteful in the air!"

"Hardly a trial I assure you, one learns not to appear overtly friendly and risk unwanted attention," he said flatly, though any other comment he meant to make in that regard was forgotten as she returned to sit at his other side. Plopping an offering of a flaky pastry on his plate, her hand as it drew away, rested momentarily upon his, before politely asked a passing maid for more tea for the table as his cup was empty.

Moments later Jane and Mary joined the table, though routinely they would be the first to rise, Darcy was aware that discussions had taken place well into the night concerning Bingley, having taken part of some of it himself. Doubtless, the sisters continued the rapport after retiring from his company.

Yesterday, Jane had expressed her shock at the admission of her beloved's knowledge, and when pressed as to why he did not reveal it to her sooner, Bingley had responded that he thought it best she remained ignorant.

"It would not have mattered," she recounted his words, "he said he intends to take care of me, that I am to be his responsibility when we were wed,_ is _his responsibility to ensure my happiness and ease me of my burdens as far as his ability to do so; knowing the circumstances would only make me question his devotion. He said he would gladly carry us all besides, though he was sure that Darcy would lend his hand whether he married Lizzy or not…"

That night, as Bingley's words fell from Jane's lips, he felt Elizabeth's stare – a mixture of sadness and regret – he found himself passionately declaring, "You are my family and I will not lose you to this entail."

"How had he known though?" Mary had murmured, distracted. "Why did father tell him, but not us?"

"We shall have to ask him," Jane said, too consumed in her thoughts to remember that Mary had been barred from ever returning. The entail already taking its first victim.

Hopeful that they could discover the reasoning behind their father's deception through Mr. Gardiner, who Elizabeth had written to the day before of their intended visit, all would be revealed.

Not well, Darcy thought, likely never well again in the way it once was, but as close as it would be given the circumstances. If Mr. Bennet's deceit, or rather grievous omission, did not exceed the damage it already caused, he held onto the hope that this chapter in the Bennet daughters' lives would end swiftly and as painlessly as possible.

However, as Catherine hummed through her scanning of the newspaper, her gaze halted and her sleep strained eyes widened. Again, her gaze retraced the words over and over again in horrified fascination, before with trembling hands, the butter knife she held clattered against the plate, and all colour drained from her face.

Over the quiet din of the meal, her half whisper came over the table in a haunting half whisper, "What is this?"

.

"I will not allow you to do this Charles! Think of your family! How on earth do you expect to house three insipid uninspired ladies, two of whom will likely end up on the shelf, and a widow with a pocket as deep as her conscious?"

"Mr. Bennet has not passed -"

Mrs. Bingley would not have it. "But he could expire at any moment, and what then?"

When he said nothing, she continued in her outrage, following him resolutely in his attempt to escape to the music room of his family townhouse where Cecilia was taking tea with Caroline.

There was a sharp bang as she shut the door behind her, not brokering any escape and gaining the attention of her two daughters in so doing.

Cecilia was unimpressed as usual with her mother's show of temperament, though Caroline had jumped up in alarm.

Finally seeing an appropriate reaction to the situation, Mrs. Bingley demanded, "Have you seen this?" Without waiting for an answer, she threw the papers towards the settee, scattering them onto the floor like sheets of dirtied snow. "Look at that, read that line!"

Caroline had immediately gone on bended knees to do as she was told, her eyes scanning the papers frantically to find whatever caused such distress in her mother, but Cecilia only raised a brow, set her teacup down and asked, "What has happened?"

"Happened?" the lady repeated in a snarl, "What has happened is that your brother has condemned Caroline and I to a life of servitude by agreeing to marry that Trollip!"

"I sincerely hope you are not talking about Jane, she is a sweet girl and for all the ridiculous criteria you had for a wife for your son, she fit them all," her eldest reminded.

"Except for the part where she lied about the estate! Deceitful wench!"

"Mother please…" Bingley begged, sitting heavily at his older sister's side, head in hands. "I love her and I do not care whether she had an estate to inherit or not -"

"She led you on my boy, do not let her continue her lies!"

"She did not lie; she truly did not know!" he explained in that same pleading tone, "Her father only told me because I sought permission to marry her!"

Mrs. Bingley's tirade continued, "Even worse than! How responsible could Jane Bennet possibly be when her father is as incompetent and pretentious as his wife?"

"Enough!" Cecilia demanded, "What on earth are you trying to accomplish with this slander mother?"

"She will ruin us," came the inevitable promise.

Despite passing all of their mother's little tests, the eldest Miss Bennet was still treated with utmost contempt. Cecilia supposed that it was perhaps because Charles was her mother's only son. She had witnessed first-hand the load their mother was forced to carry once their father had passed, and when Charles was old enough, that load had shifted to weigh on his shoulders.

It was not fair on him, she thought at the time, a sentiment many shared in the wake of their mother's actions, especially having been coddled as much as he was as a child.

Spoilt to responsible in less than a year, Charles was the reflection of their father in heart and mind; just as malleable and like their father, not as firm in following the goal of a trader's wife to escape the stench that came with it.

In all other requests though, Charles bowed to their mother's every wish:

"You will break the engagement."

He lifted his head, his face pale and eyes wide. Though he had always known of his mother's dislike of his chosen lady, he never thought she would ever demand such a thing from him. His hands, still pushed through his fair locks, tugged and twisted with nervous anxiety. "But mother I -"

"No! You will do as I say Charles!"

To choose between the woman that had sacrificed everything for him to the woman he would be willing to sacrifice everything for was not a task he would find himself proficient in, or decisive about.

"You are being unreasonable," he finally managed albeit weakly.

"I told you this from the start, I warned you," she insisted, and that curse came again, "she will ruin us."

Cecilia opened her mouth to intervene for surely her brother would not grow the backbone to do so in the next few minutes, but was surprised when it was Caroline who spoke instead, "No, refusing to marry Jane just because her dowry is not as large will ruin us. How do you think we will be reflected in society for such a breech in etiquette mother?"

Mrs. Bingley only glared and with a sound of annoyance, left the study with another bang of the door.

For several moments there was silence and only the sound of paper rustling as Caroline picked up the remnants of the newspaper. Eventually, the lady stood. Stacking the pile atop the pianoforte, she quietly continued to fuss about the room.

Her little sister, raised in the same atmosphere their mother had placed Charles in, was not the type to respond to such behaviour particularly of those higher on the familial hierarchy. Though, if Cecilia was honest with herself, any hierarchy.

Caroline was raised to know who was the one in charge, and then figure out how to unseat them, and to do that she had to know everyone's importance and her role in that line of succession. You needed to know where you were to know where you wanted to be, a philosophy she held to heart and thus had never went against until today.

Charles, only relieved that the inquisition had ended temporarily, did not notice this and only made a move to thank them when Caroline interjected, "If you truly love Jane, you will not allow anyone to talk to her like that, even mother. Otherwise you will not survive Mrs. Bennet, and in that you would have failed Jane, and you cannot afford to if you love her. So do not."

"Do not, what?" he tentatively asked, "Love her, or fail her?"

She paused then, and eying her brother. "I think you have already answered your question."

.

The reactions within the room were swift, and yet Georgiana saw them in its most minute details.

From the way Jane had turned so fast on her heel that her braid practically wrapped itself around her neck in the process like a golden noose to the way Mary had practically choked on air whilst Elizabeth's expression matched that of Catherine's down to the hand that flew to their lips. Drowning on land, was the first thought that formed in Georgiana's mind.

In the midst of their spiralling end, she pulled at the newspaper to witness their horror and the roaring in her ears resounded in her skull.

In truth, Georgiana did not know the exact words she used against them – these people she had grown with and was raised by, guided through society and in matters of the heart in ways her father and brother could not – she did not know the words she used to burn them so that their stricken faces fell to ashes at their feet and in wordless pleas, they succumbed, and her brother – he –

"My study, immediately."

The roaring stopped. The room was silent.

Catherine was crying. Mary was shaking. Jane had fainted. Elizabeth had fled.

A line written by a stranger had set a part of her world on fire, and burned theirs to the ground


End file.
